


if it's me reading the signs...

by mogitz



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Humor, Love and Longing, Romance, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogitz/pseuds/mogitz
Summary: Greg Serrano has always thought of himself as a practical man - not the kind of man who believed in signs or fate or karma. He always had a very basic approach to life: you do your best, and then, eventually, you die (fingers crossed).Rebecca was not that way.Rebecca believed in signs.Ashortstory about Greg finding out about Rebecca's suicide attempt, and his struggle with whether or not he should go to her. All the "signs" around him seem to be pointing him home.





	1. the e-mail.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently got on a Crazy Ex-Girlfriend kick. I had to get this short 3-4 chapter fic out stat. More to come.

Greg Serrano has always thought of himself as a  _ practical _ man - perhaps to a fault. He sometimes loathed that about himself, the same way he loathed a lot of other things about himself.

He’s been a lot less self-loathing since he hopped a plane and started a new life at Emory University. Because for once,  _ for actual once _ , he is doing something good. A step in the right direction with the wind at his back.

The wind being West Covina and everything he’d left behind.

When you hate yourself,  _ really truly hate yourself _ , it’s hard to make good choices. Once he’d sobered up, those choices became easier and easier, and his self-worth grew. His love for life and his love for  _ himself _ became second nature.

And it is a  _ rush _ .

And it is just as addicting to him as the alcohol and the smell of her hair. He knows he has to chase that feeling. So, after he made it to the top of that escalator in LAX, he promised himself he’d never look back.

He was choosing _ life _ . He was choosing himself, for once. He couldn’t regret leaving that life -  _ leaving her and who he was _ \- behind.

But see… that’s the thing about life. The more it passes by, the more we look back. The more we dissect and reflect. He may not regret leaving, but he always did wonder.

Oh, did he ever wonder.

About what could have been… about her.  _ What _ she was doing or  _ who _ she was with… But not often, and never for long.

He treats it the same way he does when he thinks about drinking - sure, it crosses his mind, but he pushes it back out. Some days it’s there more than others, but he never gives in. He fights through it.

But not today. Today, he doesn’t have to fight.

It’s going to be a good day.

He  _ knows _ it.

Greg hops up the steps to the coffee shop on the corner by his apartment, and he’s all but whistling. It is a particularly clear day, the sun is out, and the Georgia heat is somehow a lot easier  on the stomach than the dry, desert air of LA.

He pulls the door open, carrying his messenger bag and laptop under his arm. He quickly finds and settles into his corner table where he does most of his studying these days - but not before nodding to the cute barista behind the counter.

He is a different person here - the kind of person he always  _ wanted _ to be, but could never seem to  _ let _ himself  be . He smiles at strangers now.

Yeah. He’s  _ that  _ asshole.

“The usual?” the cute barista calls out to him and he smiles shyly, giving her a quick nod. He’s been playing with the idea of asking her for her number for the last three months, but still isn’t totally sure he’s in a place where he’s ready to jump into something like that again. The farther he’s gotten from Rebecca, the more he realizes just what an idiot he’d been. A classic case of the right one at the wrong time - the most tragic kind of love story out there.

He sticks his earbuds in his ears and pops open his laptop, ready to weed through his emails before getting some  _ real  _ studying done. It doesn’t take long before he notices an email from Heather a few lines down. The subject line makes his stomach drop:

_ FW: fw: fw: Friends of Rebecca Bunch. _

And just like that, a cloud rolls overhead, and his day gets just a little more dreary. He doesn’t even want to click it. She is his kryptonite, and not thinking about her or pretending she doesn’t exist is so much easier than missing her.

Cute Barista appears in his peripheral, and he yanks a bud out of his ear. He slaps on a tight-lipped smile, hoping she didn’t catch the look of pure terror in his eyes only seconds ago.

“Here ya go,” she beams brightly, setting the oversized, pale blue cup in front of him. He goes to thank her but chokes on his words when he notices the foam on the top of his latte is the shape of a heart, and somehow she was able to draw a big  _ “R” _ in the middle.

Why is Rebecca’s name the first thing that flashes across his mind?

“What’s  _ uh… _ what’s the ‘ _ R’ _ stand for?” he asks as she turns to leave. She peers down at the mug, her brown eyes widening.

“ _ C’mon _ ,” she chuckles, “that’s a  _ ‘B’ _ .”

“That’s a  _ ‘B’...? _ That is  _ not _ a ‘B’…”

“It is-!”

“Okay, so, say it is actually a  _ ‘B’ _ \- what would a _ ‘B’ _ even stand for?”

She scoffs, but there’s no malice in her tone as she tells him, “You  _ know… _ for  _ Barney’s _ …. As in the name of the coffee shop?”

“Wait, wait,  _ wait _ ,” Greg says, holding his hands out as if to halt her. He cocks an eyebrow, “You mean to tell me I’ve been coming here for the last year and  _ never _ knew this place had a  _ name? _ ” Greg asks, incredulously.

Her hands find her hips, as she tries to subdue a smile,“Well, it’s on the window beside you, so you just must not be very observant.” He looks to his left, and sure enough the name ‘ _ Barney’s’ _ is etched across the glass - albeit, backward from his angle. His eyes narrow at her, but the smirk never leaves his lips.

“Maybe so. But this looks like an ‘ _ R _ ,’ not a ‘ _ B _ ,’ so…”

“Gimme a break, dude.”

“Hey, you tried. And that’s all that matters,” he teases, and she’s pulled away from their cute banter - she returns back to her counter, getting on with the rest of her orders.

Greg’s smile slowly fades when his eyes trail back down to his laptop - back down to that ominous e-mail.

He hasn’t wanted to see or talk to anyone back in West Covina ever since he caught wind that Josh and Rebecca were getting married - it seemed utterly laughable. And while he had wanted to be happy for them, there was always going to be that feeling of regret and jealousy over Josh and how everything had unraveled with Rebecca.

Needless to say, he wasn’t sad when he found out the wedding fell through. Nor was he surprised. Chaos seems to follow that girl everywhere she goes, and now it has made its way into his inbox.

Greg sucks in a sharp breath and clicks the email, his pointer now hovering between ‘ _ open _ ’ and ‘ _ delete _ ’.

Why does the decision seem so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard - not after all this time. Not after she almost married his best friend. Not after their sordid history.

To prove that it’s  _ not _ hard, that he has come so far in his own recovery, that he can handle it (and honestly out of blind curiosity), he opens the e-mail.

He scrolls through, but everyone’s responses are so vague - a slew of ‘get better soon’ and well wishes. It’s been through a few different conversation chains, both names he recognizes and some he doesn’t. But at the very end, he sees the original email, as well as Heather’s message that is just to him:

_ Greg, _

_ Just thought you might want to know. I hope everything’s going well at the Harvard of the south. Don’t be a stranger. _

_ -Heather _

The original e-mail houses a youtube video. He’s feeling more hesitant than he was before, if that is even possible. The video title just says “Update on Becks.” Greg exhales, pulling his loose earbud back up to his ear, hovering it as though he’s not sure he wants to hear it at all, the way a kid peeks through their fingers at a horror film.

He sees Valencia come into frame right away, which is strange considering last he knew, they weren’t the best of friends.

“Hi everyone. I’m Valencia Perez, Rebecca Bunch’s friend. I wanted to just post a quick update on Rebecca because I know a lot of people are worried about her,” she says. Greg feels his jaw tighten and his eyes slightly blur - he’s still not sure what any of this means.

“ _ What did you do…? _ ” he finds himself whispering aloud.

The video continues, “Rebecca went through a tough time a few days ago, obviously. But she’s stable now, and she appreciates everyone thinking about her. If you want to connect with her, you can just write in the comments below and I’ll make sure she gets the message. Thanks all.”

Greg can hear his heartbeat in his own ears as he closes his laptop shut and sucks in another breath, realizing he didn’t breathe at all while he watched the video. He slinks back in his chair, staring at nothing in particular as he tries to piece everything together. He looks over at his coffee, the letter in the foam looking more like a n “R” than it originally had.

That is definitely not a “B”.

“Rebecca?” he hears another barista call out, a brown to-go cup in her hand. “Order for Rebecca?” A short-haired woman in a flowery skirt comes up, taking her drink and shoving a tip in the tip jar on her way out.

Greg pinches the area between his eyes, warding off a headache that is relentlessly starting to creep up on him. His chest feels tight, his mouth waters.

He suddenly wants a drink.

Nope. No. Not today.

He knew better than to open that e-mail. He scoops all of his stuff up along with his coffee and heads to the front counter.

“Is something wrong?” Cute Barista asks him.

“Uh…” he stammers. He can’t even begin to know how to answer that question. “No, I’m fine. Can I actually get this to go? I forgot I have somewhere I need to be.” His own voice sounds so far away as he says this to her.

“Of course,” she nods, picking up his cup and pouring it into a to-go cup instead.

“Thanks…” He slaps down a five, reaching for his coffee.

“Oh, and since you’ve never asked…” she says, leaning over the counter and scrawling something across a napkin with her blue pen. She slides it to him with a sly smile. “Here’s my number,” Cute Barista says.

(One of these days he’ll need to figure out her actual name.)

He nods once and thanks her again when a witty remark fails to come to him. He looks down at the napkin: 555-689-1791. He opens his mouth to tell her he’ll call her or something, but he catches the last five digits: 91791. It takes him a moment to place it, his eyebrows pulling together as he studies the numbers.

_ Odd. _

That’s the zip code for West Covina.

...What a  _ strange _ coincidence.


	2. i don't believe in signs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries (and fails) to ignore the signs telling him to reach out to Rebecca... and memory ghost Rebecca popping up all day isn't making it any easier.

 

* * *

Yes, Greg Serrano has always thought of himself as a  _practical_  man -  _not_ the kind of man who believed in signs or fate or karma. He always had a very basic approach to life: you do your best, and then, eventually, you die (fingers crossed).

Rebecca was  _not_  that way.

 _Rebecca_  believed in signs - she was blabbering all about them before he left West Covina. He thought she was crazy.

No, he  _knew_ she was crazy.

Greg runs a bothered hand through his dark hair as he walks around the block, coffee in hand. That sunny, happy day he was counting on not even 20 minutes ago is gone. The clouds have rolled in and it's already starting to drizzle. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, the urge to text Josh so strong that his fingers twitch.

He doesn't, though. If something happened to Rebecca, the last person he wants to hear it from is Josh Chan.

 _Hell_ , if something happened to Rebecca, it was probably  _because_ of Josh Chan.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't  _need_ to know. She isn't a part of his life anymore! He begins to fume - how is it that Rebecca isn't even here and yet she is still making him crazy?

Would he ever escape her?

"Do you have any change?" he hears a gravelly voice ask, looks up to see a homeless man in front of him, leaning on a church sign. He digs back into his pocket, pulling out a couple of crinkled up dollars and some change. The homeless man thanks him and walks off, and the church marquee comes into full view:  _And they called Rebekah, and said to her, "Will you go with this man?" She said, "I will go."_  - Genesis, 24:58.

Greg reads it, squints, and then he reads it again. He starts to chuckle, and then he bends forward in almost a belly laugh. He almost feels delirious.

"Nice try!" he calls out to no one, looking like a  _real_  crazy person. The "R" in the coffee, the barista calling out her name, the zip code in Cute Barista's number... and now  _this?_

He looks to the sky, trying to figure out what kind of sick, cosmic joke is being played on him, extending his arms out as he shouts into the void, "I don't believe in signs!"

As if on cue, a city bus pulls up along the curb in front of him, squealing to a halt - he can't help but notice the larger than life ad on the side of it: A very serious female lawyer leers back at him, her arms crossed over her chest. In big, bold lettering beside her it reads, "Don't settle… let me settle  _for_ you! CALL R.B. & Associates."

"Oh,  _c'mon!_ " Greg laments, throwing his arms up in defeat, dramatically. He stomps on like a toddler throwing a tantrum before violently chucking his barely-drank coffee into the trashcan nearby. He picks up the pace and zips up his hoodie, heading home even faster.

This is starting to get ridiculous.

' _You're reading into all of this_ ,' he thinks to himself. He just wants to get back to the comfort of his own apartment, especially as that nagging feeling in the back of his brain is begging him to cave in and get a drink or give her a call - he's not sure which of those ideas is  _more_  damaging to his recovery right now.

He suddenly startles when he imagines Rebecca hurrying beside him, her heels clicking against the sidewalk as her pretty, pink dress swishes. Her legs move quickly, trying to keep up his pace.

"Where are we going?" she wonders, her big green eyes wide and childlike in that way he always loved. Her curls bounce, as well as her chest. But that was common with her low-cut tops. She looks exactly as he remembers her.

Greg pulls his hoodie onto his head begrudgingly, looking down at the sidewalk as he trudges forward.

" _We_  aren't going anywhere," he mutters. " _I'm_  going home."

"Without me?" she pouts.

He stops in his tracks, thankful that no one is there to witness his  _obvious_  psychological break.

"What were you thinking?" he scolds her, pointing at his own temple for emphasis. " _Why_  would you ever  _do_  something like that?"

She stops too, softly biting the fleshy part of her bottom lip as her eyes fall to her hands. They creep back to his, sadly. She shrugs.

"You know me, Greg. I'm  _impulsive…_  I get sad, sometimes."

"We  _all_  get sad," he snaps at her through clenched teeth. "That's  _no_  excuse." His eyes shift beyond her and he realizes they are stopped in front of a bar, so he starts walking again, calling back over his shoulder at her, "go away. Quit following me." But then he stops and backtracks, his finger accusingly in her face, "and  _quit_  with the stupid signs, I'm not falling for it."

" _Greg_ ," she calls out after him, her voice breaking.

"You're not even here anymore and you're still a pain in my ass," he grumbles, hurrying off and leaving the hallucination of her behind.

* * *

He gets into the safety of his apartment, tossing his keys to the side and dropping his stuff at his feet thoughtlessly. He steps over the pile and heads for his living room, immediately beginning to pace. He rubs his hands down his face, his five o'clock shadow scraping roughly against the palms of his hands.

His dark eyes roam over to the clock on his wall - somehow he'd already lost a few hours of studying time, and that fact alone pisses him off.

Why is he letting this get to him so much?

He decides to plop down onto his couch and lose himself in some daytime television,  _anything_  to distract him from all of the thoughts racing around in his head.

He grabs his remote, clicking on the TV and sinking into his couch. The first thing that pops on is a travel commercial, a woman's sultry voice saying, " _want to get away from it all? Come to California-_ "

Greg scoffs, flipping the channel quickly.

" _Not_  a sign," he drones out loud, a bitter edge in his voice he hasn't heard since West-Covina-Greg. The next channel is the history channel, and he immediately recognizes the documentary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire of 1911 - Rebecca's favorite fire. He allows his head to fall back on his couch cushions as he groans, frustratedly.

He can't help but think back on their (disastrous) first date - wandering around Taco Fest on the  _one_ rainy day in LA - when she told him once a week she would google trivia about the infamous inferno.

"Shut  _up_. I  _love_  that fire," he'd told her. "That's, like, my  _favorite_  fire."

He can still remember the sound of her laugh - it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He was really proud of himself every time he got it out of her.

" _No._  Stop messing with me. I know it's weird," she'd giggled.

"Why is it weird to be obsessed with the flashpoint that single-handedly ignited labor reform in the U.S.?"

The way she looked at him when he said that to her had set  _his_ heart on fire - speaking of fires. It was as though she was seeing him -  _really truly seeing him_  - for the first time as something more than Josh's loser, bartender friend. He wanted her to know he was more than that, that he could match her wit and her smarts, and it worked.

"You really blew my mind that day," memory ghost Rebecca says, once again startling Greg. He sits up, his hand falling over his chest, dramatically. She's smiling menacingly on the couch beside him, her leg crossed cattily over the other and her hands clutching her knee.

"Jesus Christ… would you  _quit_  doing that?"

"Um, I'm pretty sure  _you're_  doing it. I'm just a manifestation of your guilt-"

He turns to her on the couch, heatedly uttering, " _my guilt?_  That's rich-"

"Okay, or you're crazy.  _Orrr_  you miss me and still  _loooove_  me. Whichever you prefer, homeboy."

" _Hmm…"_ he muses, staring up at the ceiling in mock contemplation, "I am going to go out on a limb here and guess the answer is D: none of the above."

"Fine," she shrugs casually. She picks up a magazine from his coffee table and begins to thumb through it. "Brain tumor it is, then…"

Greg's had about enough, he snags the magazine from her lap and tosses it aside, " _What_  do you  _want_  from me?"

"Now, see…  _that's_  not really up to  _me_  to decide."

"You're right." He picks up his cellphone and pulls the napkin from his jacket pocket. He doesn't think much before he types in the Cute Barista's phone number, shooting off a quick text:  _Hey, it's Greg. Feel like grabbing dinner tonight?_

" _Ooh_ , ballsy," Rebecca comments, peeking over his shoulder at his phone.

"I'm  _over_ you, Rebecca. Your little stunt isn't going to bring me back-"

Rebecca raises her eyebrows, her head whipping back as though she's just been smacked, "oh. Wow. Okay."

"What?" he hisses back at her. "Don't act like I just said something completely awful to you. It wouldn't be the first time you pulled something drastic."

"I find it interesting that you think my mental breakdown has anything to do with trying to draw you back to me. Don't you think I would have called you if that was the case? What happened to me has nothing to do with you."

Greg's phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down at the text: _Sure! Pick me up at 6?_

"I'm not doing this," Greg snaps, standing to go take a shower. "I have a date."

* * *

Cute Barista's actual name is Lindsey.

She's even cuter out of her work clothes and in a nice dress. She has nice eyes - they're warm.

The two of them go to out dinner - a nice place. The kind of place he would have liked to have taken Rebecca, and maybe would have if the world had been just a little bit kinder.

They make small talk. Her hand brushes his and she blushes. She likes him.

He chastises himself for thinking about Rebecca and actively tries not to.

It doesn't work.

He looks beside him at the extra chair at their table, and he imagines Rebecca pulling up a seat and sitting  _right_  there, an invisible third party to their date.

She coyly leans on her elbows, smirking at him like she's won.

"She's nice," memory ghost Rebecca compliments, eyeing his blonde date up and down. " _Way_  cuter than me. Go, Greg!"

Lindsey goes on telling him about her majoring in business law, her finger gingerly tracing around the rim of her glass of red wine. He's more drawn to the blood-red liquid in her glass than he is to her right now.

"I thought you didn't like blondes, though?" Rebecca adds.

"Go away," he tells her under his breath. Now he's certain he's the crazy one.

"Did you say something?" Lindsey asks, looking up from her menu.

"No," is all he can think to say. He shifts his eyes down to his own menu, practically hiding behind it, but he can't focus.

"You gonna take her to Pound Town?" Rebecca wonders, her chin resting in her hand thoughtfully. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. That is totally something Rebecca would say. "She looks like she's taken a few dance classes in her day. Seems flexible, if you catch my drift. Might be fun…"

The waitress arrives to ask if they want any refills, and Lindsey orders a gin and tonic. Both Rebecca and Greg's eyebrows raise, and he wants to mutter to her to shut up before she even says anything - this  _isn't_ a sign.

Rebecca leans in toward him, "told you that gin and tonics were gonna be a hit… too bad your patent didn't get there in time."

Greg snorts, holding back a chuckle.

Lindsey looks up at him again, her face brightening with curiosity, "What, you don't like those?"

"Oh, no, it's not that. Gin and tonics used to be my favorite drink. Actually,  _every_  form of alcohol used to be my favorite drink."

"Well, then you should get one, too," Lindsey suggests, shrugging one shoulder to her chin and all but batting her eyelashes at him. Greg sucks in a sharp breath - he had forgotten that alcohol was a big part of dating… which is why he hadn't been dating since he got here.

Well, that was one reason, at least.

"I, um… I don't….  _drink_ ," he gets out slowly, hesitantly. Her face falls lightning fast.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she says, her cheeks now reddening ever so slightly. He feels bad telling people this, simply because this right here is their collective, awkward reaction.

" _No, no, no_. Don't worry, it's fine."

Greg finds himself rushing through dinner when he can't seem to shake the imaginary Rebecca off. She's there beside him the whole night, commentating on everything Lindsey says and everything he does. His shoulders ache from being so tense, and he can't let loose. This is why he used to drink - it helps relax him. Right now, he has no crutch.

"Where are you originally from?" Lindsey asks. Greg clears his throat, taking a sip of his water.

"West Covina, California."

"Oh, where's that?"

"East of L.A." is his short response. Her brows furrow together and she frowns.

"Are you alright? You seem… distracted."

"Oh shit, she's catching on," Rebecca leans in to whisper. "Quick, act natural."

"I'm um… I'm actually not feeling very well all of a sudden," Greg tries, standing up from his chair. "Will you excuse me? I'll be right back." He doesn't wait for her response before he's heading out the front door of the restaurant, desperate for some fresh air.

He gets out onto the sidewalk, filling his lungs and pressing his fingers against his temples. His head is throbbing and he's just not pulling it together.

Today has been a nightmare.

"You're really losing it, Serrano," Rebecca chirps behind him.

He whips around and his throat feels like it's on fire as he tells her, "go away! I need you to leave me alone!"

"It's not up to me!" she snaps back. He groans, slumping down against the side of the building until he's on the sidewalk. He stares absently across the road to another restaurant. A neon sign in the window says, "CALL FOR BRUNCH RESERVATIONS," but some of the letters aren't lighting up.

So instead, it just reads 'CALL    B UNCH."

"Okay," he breathes out in quiet resignation. His head leans back against the brick building with a soft thud. "Say these  _are_  signs, Bunch. What do they even mean? Do I need to go to you? Call you? Send a carrier pigeon,  _what?_ "

She slowly slides down the wall beside him, pulling her knees up to her chest. She shrugs, "I wish I knew what to tell you. You're just going to have to figure that out on your own."

Greg signs and closes his eyes, "What is it going to take to make you go away?"

There's no response, and when he opens his eyes to look beside him, she's gone.

And he's alone.

* * *

Greg feels bad cutting his date with Lindsey short - one reason is that now his favorite coffee shop is tainted since he has no intention of following up with a second date. Eventually, he'll have to explain to her that he's in recovery and really shouldn't be dating in the first place, but that's for another day.

He gets ready for bed, his mind loudly buzzing as he thinks back on everything that's happened today. Every sign, every hallucination. He brushes his teeth and for a second imagines Rebecca there beside him, brushing her own, smiling at him with a mouth full of toothpaste and a toothbrush in her mouth. He'd always wanted that with her: the domestic, mundane things that most couples take for granted.

He shakes the thought away, rinsing his mouth and heading back into his bedroom. It's so quiet. Lonely. Why had it never seemed that way before? Why does something suddenly feel missing in his life?

After careful consideration, Greg finally decides to give in and do what he's been longing to do all day long: find out what happened to Rebecca. Maybe if he can put this mystery to rest, he can get back to his life.

He grabs his phone from his nightstand and it feels like a brick his hands. He thumbs through his contacts, wondering who is going to give it to him straight and not be wrapped up in the tragedy of it all.

Certainly not Josh. Hector is probably clueless. Paula and Valencia probably wouldn't even answer his call, and surely Daryll would be a blubbering mess.

Heather.

It is the only  _logical_  choice - and what is Greg Serrano if not logical?

Before he can talk himself out of it, he hits the 'CALL' button.

He doesn't expect her to pick up after the very first ring, "Hey…" he chokes out, awkwardly.

" _Heeey_ ," she drones back. It unnerves him - he hasn't heard Heather's familiar, monotone voice in what feels like an eternity.

"So, um... I got your e-mail."

" _Yeahhhh..._  sorry about that, you know, if it threw off your day or whatever. I wasn't sure if you wanted to know or even  _care-_ " she says, quietly.

"Of course I care," he sputters out before he can stop himself. He pauses, clearing his throat before he goes on, "you're quiet. Why are you whispering?"

"Oh, Rebecca's sleeping. I'm on night watch."

The fact that Heather is actually  _with_  Rebecca while he's on the phone with her makes Greg's heart skip a beat. He doesn't know why it still gets to him after all this time.

"I can call back tomorrow-" he tells her, regretting calling her in the first place.

"I mean, sure. If you  _want_." He forgot that Heather isn't the type of girl who's going to beg him to stay on the line or push him to hear what's going on - that was always  _Rebecca_. And as exasperating as Rebecca could be, he always sort of loved that about her. It was one of the biggest differences he'd noticed between the two women when he'd dated Heather. If he missed a date or had to reschedule, Heather would roll with it.

Rebecca was never that easy.

" _Hello?_ "

Greg realizes he hasn't said anything in a while.

"...what happened?" he bravely asks her.

He hears Heather sigh on the other line, and he can almost picture her shoulders slumping as she sits back in her hospital chair.

"It's sort of a long story-"

"Then shorten it," he suggests, a bite in his voice he didn't anticipate. He softens his tone before asking, "is she going to be okay?" There's another long, pregnant pause on the other line.

"I mean, she's not going to  _die_  or anything. Dr. Akopian set her up with a new psychologist, so we're just waiting to see what he thinks."

Greg isn't sure what to say to that.

So, the words fall from his mouth without much thought, "what did she do?"

"Pills. Yeah, like, a  _loooot_  of pills. And wine. She was on a plane on her way home from her mom's. But Greg, she's been spiraling for a long time. There's not just like  _one_ reason she did it."

Greg stares down at his hands, fidgeting nervously. His heart just isn't beating right in his chest. He's overcome with a melancholy he can't quite pinpoint - except for the fact that he's actually seen Rebecca at one of her lowest points.

He remembers the night he saw her sitting there, so small and broken in her apartment with glass shattered around her. She had been so happy to see him that night, wrapping her arms around him and staring up at him the way he'd always longed for her to.

He was ready and willing to be her knight in shining armor that night - He  _wanted_  to.

He hates that he  _still_  wants to.

He hates even more that he might  _always_ want to.

"I miss her," he admits, barely above a whisper. "I should have been there."

"No, Greg," Heather's voice perks. "No, you are  _exactly_  where you need to be. Look, I love Rebecca, but you were right to go. You  _needed_  to go. You're doing well there, right?"

He hesitates. He's doing better than he ever has. He's stronger now.

"Yeah," he agrees, listlessly.

"Then… everything worked out fine." Her words parrot his, back when he admitted to Rebecca that he had gotten his DUI going to her to tell her he loved her. That memory, and the memory of confessing it to her at the duck pond, still remain as two of the saddest days of his life.

"Do you want me to let her know you called?" Heather offers, although the hesitation in her voice makes him think she might not think it's a good idea after she says it aloud.

"No… no that's okay. Just um… just keep me posted."

"Will do," she replies, and then after a pause she assures him, "she's gonna be okay, Greg. She's got a lot of support and people here who are looking out for her." He feels a sad, weak smile tug at his lips.

 _See? She's fine_ , he thinks.  _She doesn't need me. She never did._

"The nurse just came in. I gotta go. Later, Serrano."

"Bye-" he says, but she's already hung up before he even gets it out. Greg takes in a huge breath, and doesn't even waste any time before dialing another number - if he'd been thinking straighter today, he would have realized it was the first person he should have called: his sponsor, Barry. Since he'd moved to Georgia, he'd gotten connected with Barry as a means to keep him sober. He'd become a huge part of Greg's life and had talked him off the metaphorical bridge a few times… one time being the night he found out that Josh and Rebecca were engaged.

That was a rough night, and probably the closest he'd gotten to relapsing since he'd moved here. He had called Barry while sitting on a bar stool with a gin and tonic in front of him, and somehow he was able talk him out of it that night. He left the drink untouched and went home to sleep for three days instead.

As most sponsors do, Barry picks up right away.

"Hey, Barry. It's me. Sorry to be calling so late-"

"Greg… what's going on?"

"Um… I  _really_  want a drink right now," he admits, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He's silently making a list of every liquor store that may still be open.

"That's what I'm here for," Barry replies, calmly. "What triggered it?"

"I've been feeling the urge all day. Ever since… ever since I got some news about someone back at home."

"Hmm… is this someone the same someone who sent you into that spiral when you found out she was getting married to your old friend?"

"One and the same."

He can hear Barry softly chuckle on the other end before, "You're giving this girl way too much credit. Too much power."

That catches Greg off guard, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you or are you not in control of your life?"

It's a simple question that suddenly feels a lot more complicated than usual.

"I thought I was. But after today… I'm not so sure."

"Oh, quit it. You've been killing it out here. You're at the top of your class. You've been going to meetings. You got through it when you found out she was getting married, you'll get through whatever this is, too."

"Apparently she tried to kill herself." The words sting when he says them aloud. Barry's long pause makes it clear he wasn't expecting that answer.

"How does that make you feel?" he asks him, evenly. Greg feels a lump growing in his throat.

" _Uhhhh_ ," he stalls, trying to keep emotion from his voice. "Makes me feel… like I abandoned her. That she needed me, and I wasn't there. And I know that's insane, right? Because why should I be there? It's not my job to clean up her messes."

"Well, because you care. There's nothing wrong with caring, as long as you know your own limits and not let it control what you do to yourself."

"I was awful to her-"

"You were a different person then. You've come so far. You've learned so much. I would guess if you saw her again, you'd handle things completely different than you did before. And maybe… you owe it to yourself to see her."

"No way. I really don't think that's a good idea for me-"

"We can't avoid our triggers forever. That's not dealing with our problem. I mean, you can stay sober forever if you hole yourself up in your apartment and avoid temptation, but that's no way to live. The point is to face your fears and conquer them. If you don't feel strong enough yet, then fine. But if you ever want to get over her for good and take this power away from her, then you'll have to go back and face it eventually. Otherwise, every time you catch wind of these things happening to her, you'll have this same sinking feeling."

Greg stops pacing as he lets his friend's words register. He's right - this whole time he's been so scared of relapse that he forgot he is still in control. He's had multiple chances to fall back on alcohol today, and he hasn't.

Maybe he's stronger than he's been giving himself credit for.

He and Barry chat about other things as he waits for the longing to subside. After a little bit, Greg hangs up, setting his phone on the nightstand, carefully. He stares at his laptop, wondering if he should send Rebecca an e-mail or if there's another video posted with an update.

Then he sees a familiar commercial on his muted tv screen in the corner of his bedroom. He reaches for his remote, turning it up.

He watches a glob of yellow butter being spread across a fluffy, white biscuit as woman's voice asks him, " _Tired of hanging on to past butter? Move forward with Truly Happy Butter! Live life to the fullest!_ "

"These commercials are  _nuts,_ " he utters, narrowing his eyes shaking his head. He recalls Rebecca's fondness for them, and now he sees why. They read like a fortune cookie.

"She's got a point," Memory ghost Rebecca says, suddenly sitting beside him on the end of the bed.

"Let me guess, another  _sign?_ " he drones without looking at her.

"It's like you told me… there are no signs, Greg." Greg pries his eyes away from the tv, forcing his gaze to her. She winces her face, a side smirk a little too sad to be a smile on her lips.

"What, you don't believe in signs now? After everything I saw today?"

She shrugs, absently, "Life doesn't happen to you. You make decisions. And you need to keep going. Move forward with your life."

This was all sounding so familiar. He recalls saying something to the same effect at the airport when he said goodbye to her. He hasn't thought about that moment in a long time.

"How am I supposed to deny my feelings for you?"

_Why are his eyes suddenly teary?_

"We had some amazing moments together… some of the best of my life," she tells him softly. She reaches out and rests her hand on his cheek and it feels so real. He finds himself leaning into her touch, "But… this isn't a mess you need to clean up. I did this to myself."

"I always thought that eventually, we'd be able to try again. Once we both got better. And then you got engaged to Josh. And so much has happened..." he admits for the very first time since leaving West Covina.

He'd always imagined coming back after he finished school and got his dream career, he'd come back for her and whisk her away from that purgatory. Really,  _truly_  make her happy. The longer he'd been away, the more and more that dream was fading.

"You don't have to come to my rescue," she assures him. He closes his eyes and leans forward, his forehead pressing softly against hers. He almost thinks he can smell her. It feels so real. "I'll be okay. I really just want you to be happy," she whispers.

And against his better judgment, he thinks to himself: how can he ever be truly happy without her in his life?

He wants to tell her that. But when his eyes flutter open, she's gone.

Without another thought, he pulls his laptop over and opens it. He begins browsing airline tickets to LAX.

* * *

_to be continued..._


	3. rebecca just happens to live here!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's late. I'll edit typos out in the morning. <3 Leave me some lovin' if you want more!!

* * *

Greg is _grumpy_.

This stems mostly from the long flight, where he sits sandwiched between a fat, snoring man with hygiene problems, and a fidgeting, nervous college girl who is pounding cocktail after cocktail.

"I'm going to Hollywood to meet this guy who says he has a hook-up for me in show biz," she slurs at him at one point, her breath reeking of Fireball Whiskey. He ignores the fact that he _hates_ the term 'show-biz' _and_ Fireball _(get some real whiskey, you amateurs!)_ , but he is so on edge he actually daydreams about shoving his tongue down her throat _just_ to get a taste of that sweet, _sweet_ liquid courage.

But he doesn't, of course.

She isn't his type anyway. Not to mention, watching her get sloppier and sloppier as the 6-hour flight progresses just reminds him _why_ he is sober.

Yet for as grumpy as he feels right now, he also feels stronger than he did a few days ago.

After he'd found a reasonable ticket to California (Delta, _not_ Southwest. He's still banned from Southwest… _indefinitely_ ), he went to the school to take a leave of absence for a " _family emergency_."

He sort of felt guilty lying, but he _does_ have a sick dad. And he _is_ already ahead in all of his courses. His academics counselor granted him the leave and allowed him to work remotely, a sort of independent study as long as his professors signed off on it - _they did._

But when asked how long he would be gone, he kept it open-ended. He isn't sure how long he'll be here, but he plans on making it home _well_ before finals in a few weeks.

They (finally) land, and it only takes one step out of the stale, recycled airplane air for Greg to remember how dry and sweltering and _unforgiving_ the southern California heat is. He hasn't even left the airport yet and he already misses the hot, summer rain in Georgia.

There are many people standing around, holding signs, hugging and kissing and welcoming people from their flights.

But no one for him.

That's not a shock - he didn't call anyone to let them know he was coming back and it feels strange, being here without anyone knowing yet. If he had a _FaceSpace -_ or whatever the hell it's called - he might have updated his status like a typical, college dude might: _Impromptu SoCal adventure! See you all soon!_

But, _no_. That's never been him, and it _certainly_ isn't now.

He hails a cab and it pulls right up to the sidewalk. He pulls the door open, throwing his duffle bag in before himself, and then sliding into the back seat. He pulls out his cellphone and takes a deep breath - time to let them know he's in town.

"Where to?" the cabbie asks in his thick, indiscernible accent. He utters the two words he never thought he'd say again: "West Covina."

* * *

The moment Greg walks into Home Base is when it _finally_ starts to hit him that he's back. The smell of the bar sends him toppling headfirst into instant nostalgia, and it tugs on his heart ever-so-slightly. He looks down at his phone, still not entirely confident that this was the right move. He just knows that before he even _thinks_ about seeing Rebecca (which, to be honest, he still isn't totally sure he has the stomach to do it), he has to clear a few things up first.

Before he can even get a good look around the bar, someone hurls themselves into him, wrapping him in a bear hug.

" _Whoa_ ," Greg wheezes, the air gets knocked from his chest.

"Welcome back, _buddy!_ " Josh says excitedly, pulling away but giving him a few extra, residual pats on the back. He smiles that wide, trademark Chan grin and it's hard not to reciprocate, regardless of all that has happened between the two.

"I knew you couldn't stay away forever!" Josh shakes his head in disbelief, "I just can't believe you're back-"

" _Ah_ , _bup, bup, bup, bup_!" Greg tsks, holding a hand up and halting a very confused Chan before he can even finish the thought. " _Just_ a visit," he clarifies. "I'm not staying."

"Sure, yeah, right. Of course," Josh nods along, but then takes a moment to think and asks, "so… _why_ are you back?"

Greg's mouth falls open, his eyes wide as he gives a shrug. He shakes his head innocently, "you know... Just to check on my dad. Visit some friends. I'm way ahead in my studies, thought enough time had passed-"

"Isn't your dad on that senior singles cruise?" Josh wonders, and Greg almost laughs it off until his stomach drops. His alibi is shot - this is the week his dad was going to be cruising to Mexico with a bunch of single, elderly people. And how did Josh even know that?

"You talk to my dad?"

"Every Thursday," Josh answers, earnestly - as though that's the most normal thing in the world.

Greg makes a face, eyeing his friend, "That's…. really _weird._ "

Josh ignores him and winces, almost painfully, "You're not… here because of _Rebecca_ , right?"

"What? _Pshh…_ no," Greg scoffs, but then he finds himself leaning in. He wants to know more. The two long-lost friends climb into a booth nearby as he wonders, "Wh-wh-why… why would you ask _that?_ "

"Well, you heard about what happened, right?" Josh replies, hesitantly.

"... _Vaguely_ ," is all Greg can bring himself to say. He watches as Josh's shoulders slump as his smile fades.

"It's all my fault," he sighs, dejectedly. "Things… didn't end well between us."

 _Ah, yes_. Greg had heard _all_ about Josh leaving Rebecca at the altar. He couldn't say he'd been surprised at the time - Josh had a hard enough time committing to Valencia, and then _BAM!_ He was engaged to another woman so fast. To Greg, the fact that Rebecca and Josh were sprinting to the altar was a sign that they were trying to lock it all down before it inevitably fell apart.

"I think that's a bit of an understatement, don't you?" Greg wonders, cocking an eyebrow.

"She used to talk about you a lot, you know…" Josh goes on, and that makes Greg's heart feel both fuller and emptier, somehow. To know she never forgot about him, even after she got _everything she'd ever wanted-_

" _So?_ " he spits out uncaringly, crossing his arms over his chest like a sulky child. "Who cares? _I_ don't…"

Josh just leers back at him in a way only Josh Chan can - he _knows_ him. He sees through him.

He always has.

"I... _think_ you care a _little_ more than you want to admit, Serrano."

Greg wants to tell him that's not true, but what's the point? He rolls his shoulders, trying to keep his head from rolling back. This is exhausting already.

"Okay, just… can we talk about something else? I'm not here because of Rebecca."

"Well, _good_. They won't let you in anyway," Josh explains, shaking his head somberly. " _Believe_ me, I tried. They have her on lockdown and _no one_ is getting past Paula."

Greg all but rolls his eyes at the thought alone - he remembers _too_ well just how (weirdly) protective Paula can be of Rebecca, but at the same time, he's glad she has someone like that in her corner. The world can be a hard place for people like Rebecca, even if she brings a lot of it onto herself.

"Well, that hasn't changed," Greg comments. He is finding that even though it stings to speak of Rebecca - and certainly to Josh of all people - it also feels oddly freeing. And although he _literally_ just requested to talk about something else, he goes on to ask, "but… Is she okay? How did this happen?"

Josh's hands come up to rest on the table, nervously fidgeting.

"I mean, I guess she's going to be okay. She sorta lost it there, started acting really erratic-"

"Well, that's Rebecca for you-"

" _No_ ," Josh interrupts, shaking his head. His voice cracks, "no, not this time. We all know Rebecca can be a little bit unstable, but _never_ anything like this before. I thought she was going to hurt my mom."

" _...Jesus_ ," Greg utters under his breath. He shakes his head quickly, "but I mean, Rebecca wouldn't do something like that-"

"I'm not so sure. She really lost it."

"Was it really that bad?"

"It was pretty bad," Josh admits. "I just… I feel bad. The last thing I said to her was that I wanted her out of my life. I can't help but feel… like…" Greg knows what Josh is trying to say, but he shakes his head at his friend.

"It wasn't your fault, Josh. It wasn't anyone's fault. Rebecca has her demons, sure. Believe me, I feel just as guilty. I can't help but feel like I could have done more," Greg admits.

"You… you really loved her, didn't you?" Josh asks after a long moment. And Greg's mouth drops open to answer, but nothing comes out at first. He wants to say _yes_ , but admitting it aloud felts like it might make his heart explode.

_Oh well. What's the use of holding back now?_

"Compared to how I felt about Rebecca," he begins slowly, unsure how exactly to explain just what sort of Rebecca-shaped hole she'd left in his heart, "I realize now that... I'm not sure I've ever even _loved_ anyone else."

"Wait… _really?_ " Josh looks taken aback, and somehow even guiltier than before.

Even though it hurts to say it, it also feels good. Like reaching an itch that desperately needs to be scratched, "Yeah. I felt _so_ much, all at once. I-I couldn't sort it, you know? When I first met Rebecca, I really hated myself. Which is why I think I wanted to be with her. It was like I was using her to punish myself. Loving someone who could never love me back… at least, not the way I wanted her to..." He sucks in a sharp breath, leaning back in his seat. He tries to keep the bitterness from creeping up into his throat as he says, "The way she loved _you_."

Josh says nothing, just nods somberly. Greg leans forward on his elbows on the table, "Look," he sighs - apparently, he's had a lot bottled up about this. And apparently, he needs to get it all off his chest. "I know things were _messy_ a-and _intense_ and _unhealthy_ between us - _between all of us_ \- but… when things were good with Rebecca and she actually _chose_ me… it didn't feel like a punishment anymore. I pictured the rest of my life with her. And I think I saw that the moment she walked in here…" Greg's gaze casts over to the empty barstool she once sat in across from him the first time he met her. She was looking for someone else.

_Looking for Josh._

Greg's voice shakes as he says, "I don't regret leaving for Emory. It was the best decision I've ever made. But not a day goes by that I don't think about leaving her there at that airport. I _had_ to do it - I had to save myself - save _both_ of us. And I thought I was doing the best thing for me _and_ for her. But while it was the best thing I've ever done, leaving her when I loved her as much as I did, was the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life."

" _Whoa_ ," Josh breathes, looking a little bit dumbfounded by everything that Greg just admitted. "I never knew…"

"I mean, it's not like I have to explain this to you," he chuckles without humor. "You loved her, too. So, you get it."

"Not like that," Josh confesses, his face slightly red. He looks a little bit choked up, "I thought Rebecca was great. And sure, I _loved_ her. But…"

" _But?_ "

"I never loved her like you loved her, Greg. And… and I'm really sorry, you know? That I got in the way of that."

Greg smiles, no teeth, but certainly genuine. He shakes his head, "for what it's worth… I'm pretty sure Rebecca and I got in our _own_ way, if you know what I mean…"

"Well, I certainly didn't help." Greg wants to tell him that's not true but… well, Josh did sort of get in the way. However, he couldn't have gotten in the way if Greg hadn't been such a mess at Jayma's wedding. Everyone had their role to play in this, and he was just relieved that his shoulders were lighter having gotten the chance to really talk to Josh about all of this.

The waitress finally arrives and they each get a drink - a beer for Josh and a soda water for Greg. He is happy how easy it is to not want to order a beer. That longing he'd felt on the plane, the longing that still lingered when he came into Home Base, had subsided.

"I promise, I won't ever get in the way of you and Rebecca again," Josh promises, holding a hand up as though he's under oath. "If you are here to get her back, then-"

"Thanks for the thought," Greg interrupts before Josh can even get the full sentence out. There's too much empty hope in thoughts like that. "But that's sort of a non-issue, now. Rebecca and I are done. For good."

* * *

Greg sticks the white hotel room keycard into the door slot. It gives off a small, approving _beep!_ and an accompanying green light. He flips on the light, stepping into the overly air-conditioned room 306. Not that he's complaining - it's a relief from the 103-degree weather outside.

The first thing he sees when he shuts the door is a big, framed notice on the back of his hotel room door: ' _You've made the right choice! Welcome to West Covina!'_

It's just a normal ad for the hotel - the Days Inn logo is under it. But the phrasing makes him sigh and shake his head, instantly reminded of all the 'signs' he'd seen back in Georgia before he'd decided to come here. He is just relieved he hadn't imagined Rebecca since that night - he was starting to worry he was either just as crazy as she was, or he quite possibly had a brain tumor.

He takes a few steps in before falling forward, collapsing on the bed. He is _exhausted_ \- the reunion with Josh went on for a few more hours, eventually with WhiJo and Hector joining up with them. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed those jerks until he was actually sitting with them in a booth, laughing and reminiscing.

Although, it _did_ take some convincing for Hector to come into the bar. He was certain Greg had caught wind of the fact that he is now dating Heather and thought Greg was here to ' _kick his ass_.' Once he'd finally convinced Hector he was happy for him, they actually had a really good day together.

Even still, this day had been long and emotional and exhausting, and he was happy to be in a bed.

He hugs onto his pillow, rolling over and facing his nightstand. He sees the clock blinking back at him: 4:30 pm.

But even though it's only 4:30 here, it's already 8:30 pm in Georgia, and Greg's eyelids feel heavy. There are a few take-out menus by the phone, and he picks them up and thumbs through them out of boredom and curiosity. He stops on one, pulling it out of the stack and staring at it. It's for delivery fondue.

He remembers the night that he ended up at Rebecca's house, cleaning up the mess she'd made of her glass-sliding door. She offered him some take-out that was sitting on her dining room table. He remembers the logo, big and red: _Fondue Me._

He remembers, even more, the name Josh scrawled across the bag. She had told him that she couldn't be alone that night. But his ego and his heart couldn't take the fact that if he pursued things with Rebecca, he'd always get second billing to Josh Chan.

So... he left.

Just like he left her at home after he took her home from the hospital.

Just like he left her at Jayma's wedding.

...Just like he left at the airport.

Greg realizes… he's been really good at leaving. He begins to see more and more the errors of his ways in the demise of his relationship with Rebecca, and a lot of it stemmed from low-self-esteem and insecurity. If he had it to do over, he would have done things so differently.

He flicks off the light, glad that the curtains are drawn and the room is cool, and he can drift off to sleep easily.

He must have only been asleep for a few moments when he feels something - _lips?_ \- on his lips. Someone's kissing him. He can see Rebecca through the darkness, feel her hand snaking up his shirt and the other pulling him to her - gripping. Needing. She always needed too much. Always demanded.

"Reb- _Rebecca_ ," he mumbles against her lips. She whimpers in response as he tries to pull from her, "what are you- what are you doing here?"

She pulls from him, reaching over him and clicking on the light. She comes into view and she blinks at him a few times with those big, innocent eyes.

"What does it look like I'm doing here?" she asks, her voice ragged. Her hand begins to roam down his abdomen, tugging at the waist of his jeans. She pushes forward, her lips pressing against his neck as she murmurs against his skin, "you came here for me. You deserve to be rewarded."

Greg leans into her lips, her hot breath. He lets himself be kissed by her, he melts into her and prays this isn't a dream.

But he knows it is. He's always been a heavy sleeper, but right now he feels like he's wavering in and out of a dream and reality.

"Rebecca," he whispers. "Rebecca _stop_." His hand reaches down to hers and he takes her wrist, keeping her from roaming down further. She rolls to her side, propping up her head with her hand and facing him.

He stares at her, and for the life of him he cannot figure out just what it is about this woman that he can't seem to get enough of. He misses her. He needs to be honest with himself about that. He didn't come here to visit his friends or see his dad… he came here to see her. He needs to admit it.

"I've really missed you," he confesses, and her eyebrows pull together and her eyes gloss, and she looks astonished that anyone would ever say that to her. That's one thing that always drove Greg crazy about Rebecca. She made it so easy, her bar was set so low. He recalls offering her the last salad roll and she treated it as a declaration of love.

Rebecca just so desperately wanted to be loved, well and often. He should have loved her harder. He should have loved her as hard as she loved him.

He doesn't care that she isn't real - his lips find hers easily and it feels like home.

They pull away, slowly, and she just smiles at him.

"I'm right here," she answers to his _I miss you._

Greg awakens suddenly from his restless sleep. She's gone, and somehow three hours have passed.

He knows for sure there's no other option: He needs to go to the hospital. He needs to stop being afraid.

He needs to see her.

* * *

Greg steps into the clean, sterile air of the hospital and he immediately thinks of the last time he was here - it was when Rebecca had collapsed and everyone found out about their secret, little love affair they'd had going on.

Or, more specifically, he remembers it as the beginning of their end.

He can't help think about the way things had now come full circle. And despite actively trying not to, he catches himself wondering if this could set the stage for a new beginning.

He shakes the thought away quickly because he meant what he said to Josh: that he and Rebecca are done for good. They have to be. He isn't strong enough to carry her and she isn't well enough to be with him.

They would destroy each other, just as they always have. But he still wants to see for himself that she is okay. He owes it to _himself_ , if anything.

Greg passes the gift shop but backtracks when he sees something all-too-familiar. There by the front desk, among all the other balloons, is the same one he'd gotten her before - Jesus riding a unicorn over a rainbow: _The turducken of sympathy balloons._

He can't stop himself, he _has_ to buy it. For old time's sake. He can give it to her, they can laugh. It will be a good icebreaker.

He buys the balloon without a second thought, happily heading over to the nurse's station to ask what room she's in.

"Visiting hours are almost over," the unimpressed nurse tells him, never taking her eyes off of her computer screen. Greg glances up at the clock: 7:47 pm.

"Uh-huh. And I still have ten minutes so…. Rebecca Bunch?" he repeats. She stares back at him, but when she realizes he isn't going anywhere she rolls her eyes and brings the clipboard onto the counter.

"Sign _here_ ," she instructs, handing him a sticker that says "visitor." Greg scribbles out his name in a hurry, and she tells him, "Room 306." Greg goes to thank her but chokes on his own words - Rebecca is in the same room number that he's in back at the hotel.

While this is quite coincidental, he's hardly even surprised by things like this anymore. It's just another sign that he's making the right decision. So he hurries down the hallway and over to the elevator, pressing the button about thirty times until the elevator finally gets there. It feels like it's taking a small eternity to get to her. And instead of pure dread, Greg is excited.

He gets out and scans the rooms, following the long corridor down until there it is: Room 306. She's right on the other side of that door. He wonders if she's going to be happy to see him?

Greg peeks into the room and sees her, she's resting peacefully in her bed. She looks so small, so broken. She's asleep. He wants to reach for the door handle, but he suddenly loses his nerve.

"Oh, you've _got_ to be _kidding_ me," he hears, and when he turns, there's Paula. She huffs, rolling her eyes the moment she sees Greg standing at the door, looking in at Rebecca. He turns to face her just as she comes stomping up. "What is _wrong_ with you? I know Josh is a bit thick, but I expected _you_ to know better than to come here," she whisper-scolds him.

Greg's head whips back as though he's just been smacked, " _Excuse_ me?"

Paula waves her hands at him, exasperatedly, "Look here, _Mr. Tall-Dark- &-Handsome_," she begins, and Greg tries to hold in the chuckle that wants to escape when he hears her still calling him that. "I know you think that coming here is going to make her feel better, but it's not. Rebecca is fragile! And you and Josh both have a hand in that-"

"Are you serious right now?" Greg nearly snaps, offended at the inference that he somehow had something to do with Rebecca's suicide attempt. "I'd love to take responsibility for this, but I have a pretty solid alibi given that I was almost 3,000 miles away and haven't talked to Rebecca in _well_ over a _year_."

Paula rolls her eyes, her hands rising to her hips cattily, "You can't _be_ here. Just like I told Josh-"

"Uh, with all due respect, that's different. _I_ didn't leave Rebecca at the altar," Greg snaps back this time, his eyes narrowed and his face set like stone. Paula gets that crazy look in her crystal blue eyes he's seen before as she nears him, nearly gritting her teeth.

"No. You're right. You _didn't_ ," she says slowly, her glare burning into him. "No, _You_ left her at the _airport_." Greg's jaw unhinges and his heart sinks - that one stung. He swallows hard. "And who was here to clean up the mess you left behind?" she asks, but then immediately answers, " _Me_. _That's_ who. So you don't _get_ to just ride in on your white horse and nurse her back to health. You don't _get_ to be the knight in shining armor. You _left._ "

"At least I came back," Greg counters, but Paula's head falls back in laughter. He feels his face wince and his eyebrows pull together as he watches her. "What?"

"Yeah, you came back. How does your _girlfriend_ feel about that, by the way?"

"What are you even talking about?"

"Oh don't even try it," Paula's hand comes up to halt him. Her eyes are wide and buggy again as she tells him, "Rebecca told me _allll_ about it yesterday. She ran into Marco the night you _butt-dialed_ her-"

"Butt-dialed her?"

" _-Yeah_. And then she ran into your _dad_ , and he told her you fell in love with a girl from your class and were happier than ever. Next thing I know, she jumps a plane and ends up in the hospital. So I think maybe aside from _Josh,_ the _last_ person she needs to see right now is _you._ "

Greg's stomach drops. All this time he had felt like he had something to do with what happened to Rebecca, but convinced himself there was no way. He'd been gone for too long - how could he blame himself?

Well, somehow, he still _did_ have something to do with it. And it makes him sick to his stomach.

All because when he left, he had put together a fool-proof contingency plan to make sure he didn't backslide: he instructed his dad that if he ever ran into Rebecca, no matter what was actually going on with Greg, he was to tell her he was A) happy B) sober and C) doing well.

Leave it to Marco to improvise and add a fake girlfriend in the mix. He just didn't want Rebecca to swoop in and ruin progress Greg was making - but at what cost?

The thought alone makes him sad. But Greg doesn't do sad very well. So he resorts to what he's good at: being angry. Paula storms passed him and Greg feels his fingers clench into fists. As much as he tries to suck it up and be the bigger person, he's fuming inside.

"Keeping Rebecca all to yourself again, are you?" he wonders facetiously, and Paula freezes in her tracks. She turns to scowl at him again, "that's the way you like it, right? You like to mother her and coddle her. I get it."

"What are you trying to say?" she practically hisses.

Greg shrugs, " _Maybe_ I'm trying to say all this enabling bullshit you do in her life is part of the reason she's laying in that hospital bed-"

"Oh, _please_ ," she scoffs waving him off. "That's _ridiculous-_ "

"Is it? Because I seem to recall you standing behind every single scheme or mess Rebecca has gotten herself into since she first moved here. You feed into her delusions because you don't want to fix all the things that are wrong in your _own_ life. So do me a favor and don't point fingers at _me_ until you take a good, hard, look in the mirror."

"Get out!" she nearly shouts, but lowers her voice when she notices a nurse shooting her a glare. "You need to leave. Now."

" _Happy_ to," he seethes back.

"I did those things because I love Rebecca!" Paula adds, calling out to his back. "Which is more than I can say for you, _Greg_." She spits out his name like it's a bad word. He turns again, running his hand down his face, exasperatedly. He just stares at her; her cheeks are flushed and her chest is rising and falling. She's close to tears.

"I _love_ Rebecca," he says to her, simply. He surprises himself when it doesn't come out in past tense. He sucks in a breath, "I will _always_ love Rebecca. But thanks to you, then _and_ now, she will never know that. Because no one gets past Paula unless _Paula_ says so. You made up your mind about me the moment you met me. I didn't stand a chance."

"If you loved her so much, why did you leave her, huh?" she asks him, her voice cracking.

"I loved her enough to let her go," Greg tells her, his voice low and soft. Her eyebrows and shoulders slouch, "and I loved her enough to come back."

The two stand facing each other, their defenses lowered, but still at a stalemate. Greg sighs, running a hand through his hair. He hands the balloon out, offering it to Paula. " _Here_. Give her this. Let her know I was here. _Or_ don't. I don't really have a right to be making demands here."

Paula takes the balloon slowly, _hesitantly_. Greg shoves his hands in his pockets, "good to see you, Paula," he says, turning to head back to the hotel.

Maybe he was wrong - wrong about everything.

Maybe coming back to West Covina was a mistake.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. just somebody that i used to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n sorry for the delay. I had to get caught up on all of my other fics. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also I made a beautiful Greg and Rebecca youtube video that you can check out [HERE.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MapmB6wlaAQ&t=6s)
> 
> Oh, and follow me on Tumblr @mogitz, [HERE.](http://mogitz.tumblr.com)

****Greg’s run-in with Paula at the hospital leaves him reeling.

He can’t sleep that night back at the hotel, although he never slept too soundly anywhere besides his own bed. So instead he gets up and paces - he chalks it up to jet lag. His body just hasn’t adjusted to the time difference.

But he knows that’s a lie. He even considers packing his stuff back up and hopping the next plane back to Georgia. He can’t help but kick himself, his mind taunting him that coming here was a mistake - _that he knew better_.

But he cannot deny the tug on his heart the moment he saw her through that window in the hospital bed - so broken. So fragile. The caretaker in him wants to be at her side, help nurse her back to health. He thinks about giving her tips he learned in therapy and AA, things that would help her.

He wants to help.

But maybe Paula was right. Maybe seeing her again wouldn’t be the best for either of them. Not that Paula’s ever-constant presence looming in Rebecca’s life is all that healthy, either.

Greg makes his rounds again, seeing his friends - even people he doesn’t really want to see. But he’s not ready to leave just yet.

He ends up back at Home Base, just like history repeating itself all over again. It’s admittedly strange to see Heather and Hector together, but at the same time, it makes sense. He asks Heather not to tell Rebecca he’s in town, and she just laughs in his face - as though that were even an option.

“No offense dude, but I ’m not going to be the reason she hurls herself off a bridge, you know?” she says wryly, and Greg winces his face at her - it’s so flippant and so unbelievably… _Heather._

“ _Seriously_ , Heath?” Her glare could turn him to an ice sculpture, “. _..er._ Heath _er_ .” He’d forgotten how much she hates that. “But like, she wouldn’t _hurl_ herself… off a bridge...” His words trail from him.

Had it really gotten that bad?

_Of course it did, you moron. She was in the hospital, for goddsakes._

Heather shrugs, going back to pouring her mugs of beer from the tap for her customers, “I dunno. She only got home yesterday. She _seems_ fine. But I wouldn’t, like, ever say anything that could set her off. She was pretty upset when you left the first time.”

“She… she _was?_ ”

Why does this information - _information he already knew_ \- feel so satisfying?

_He hates it._

Heather rolls her eyes so hard he imagines them rolling right out of her head and out the front door, “I’m not gonna, _like_ , build up your ego by indulging you with all the gory details of Rebecca’s pain-”

Greg looks behind himself as though she must be talking to someone else. But there is no one else, and his gaze trails back at her, astonished, “ _who_ do you think I am? Do you think I’m someone else?”

“Sorry.” Her flat tone makes it hard to take an apology as sincere. She leans against the bar, “Look. I know you’re a good guy. Not really to me. But to _some_ people… You’re a good guy.”

“I really am sorry about… about _everything_ , Heather,” Greg says.

Her face is typically unreadable, but after a long, stoic moment, she breaks a soft smile, “you mean eating all my fries that one time? Yeah, you’ve said that.”

He remembers his shitty apology at the Boba stand - _something about fries?_ It just shows him how far he’s come in his recovery to be able to see that clearly now.

“Well, I _am_ still sorry about that,” he smirks, nodding in defeat. Then, the seriousness washes over him again. “But… I’m sorry for all the _other_ stuff, too. I treated you poorly. You didn’t deserve any of it. I was sorta going through some stuff back then - I mean… I’m _still_ going through stuff. I kinda think I’ll _always_ be going through stuff-”

Her hand comes down to rest on his, silencing him, “I'm just gonna go ahead and throw you an emotional robe, here." She almost even smiles as she says, "I know.”

He closes his mouth, nodding again. He’s not sure why he feels so emotional, but he’s glad Heather isn’t a very emotional person. She’s good at keeping things in check.

“It all worked out for the best. I’m really happy with my smooth-armed knight in shining armor. _So…_ ”

“We’re cool?” is the only thing he can think to say.

“We’re cool, Serrano.”

 

_____________

“Well, well, _well_. If it isn’t Emory,” the old, familiar bartender calls out from behind the bar when Greg walks in. Greg bows his head at him, gives him a wave. He takes a few reluctant steps and slides up onto the barstool across from the man. The bartender lays down a napkin, “How’s the Harvard of the south?” he asks. Greg can make out a hint of mocking in his tone.

“Much better than here,” Greg fires back, and he can’t recall the last time he sounded so cynical. West Covina does this to him.

No, wait.

 _Rebecca_ does this to him.

“So… What’ll it be?”

The question knocks Greg back a bit - not only from the glaring familiarity of it all, but the fact that the question feels like it weighs 100 lbs on his sober shoulders. He can’t help but notice that since he had begun his sobriety, he has never been this… _thirsty_.

His eyes flicker over to the bar menu, laminated and covered in sticky _god-knows-what_ on the bar-top in front of him. Every single cocktail seems to be calling his name, taunting him. Hell, there’s a part of him that wants to dive over that counter and drink the whiskey straight from the bottle.

He wonders if it will _ever_ stop being this hard - (insert _that’s-what-she-said_ joke.)

He clears his throat, running an exasperated hand through his dark hair as he mumbles out - _without much confidence_ \- that he’ll have a vodka.

No, not a vodka _soda_.

A straight-up _vodka on ice_ . He half expects the old man to hesitate, ask him if he’s sure. But he doesn’t know this will be the first drink Greg’s had in over a year, so he just does as he’s told without so much another word. He just nods once and starts pouring - that easily. As though it means nothing. Greg watches on, his mind races as the liquid swirls in the bottom of the glass like a cyclone, growing higher and higher _and higher-_

“ _Actually, just a soda water_ ,” he blurts, his words jumbling together clumsily when he loses his nerve. The old bartender only looks slightly perturbed as he dumps out the wasted booze and gets a fresh glass. Greg heaves a relieved sigh.

_That was a close one._

The closest he’s come to falling off the wagon in a long, long time. The closest since… well, since he got the invitation in the mail to Rebecca and Josh’s wedding. He remembers all too well the way it felt when the silvery, blue envelope showed up in his locked mailbox. He recognized Rebecca’s all too rounded, curvy handwriting immediately. It was how she signed her receipts back at Home Base. As he thought about it being carried almost 3,000 miles to his front door, It felt an intrusion of the worst kind.

 

****

 **You are** **_cordially_ ** **invited to celebrate the union of:**

_Rebecca Norah Bunch & Joshua Felix Chan _

_On March 3rd, 2017_

_Ceremony at 5:30 pm with a reception to follow_

Where: Malibu Cliffs Villa & Spa

_Malibu, California_

..Celebrate Love in One Indescribable Instant..

Please Join Rebecca, Joshua & Friends

Food, dancing & romance _will_ be provided.

Please RSVP by: February 28, 2017

 

*****

 

He had turned the invitation in his hand, over and _over and over again_ , mindlessly.

_Maddeningly._

Just when he had thought he'd gotten Rebecca out of his head, this had arrived in the mail.

A reminder.

As if he'd never left.

It wasn't that he wanted to _forget_ Rebecca – because _, honestly,_ who could forget someone like her? He'd really only just begun to let go of all the broken feelings from their goodbye - it was like a severed limb, the exposed nerves were still so raw. But living in Georgia was giving him the space and clarity he so desperately needed to get his head back on straight.

But it appeared it didn't matter if she was there in the flesh or not; Rebecca was never too far away from Greg's mind. The void she'd left in his life was like walking around with his chest ripped wide open – this massive, gaping, insatiable and unfillable empty space.

But he _needed_ it; he needed that emptiness to truly know what it felt like to live without her. And he knew that she needed to know how it felt to live without _him_ , as well.

At least for a little while. He’d shamefully held on to _some_ small sliver of hope they could reunite one day, no matter how improbable that seemed.

And he certainly had no intention of telling _her_ that. He just foolishly hoped that maybe the planets would align and the universe would be kind to him, for _once_.

And then… that damn invitation. He wasn’t sure at the time why it had been such a surprise.

WhiJo had mentioned something cryptic on the phone a week before it was delivered, so he hadn't _totally_ been caught off guard by the fine stationery in the shimmery, icy blue envelope.  

He just hadn't imagined it would hit so hard when he finally brought himself to open it. He has to admit, he went through a wide array of emotions. He imagined burning the invite, or calling up Josh and giving him a piece of his mind. Those were things he would have actually done, had he still been using alcohol as a crutch.

He thought about crashing the wedding, _The Graduate_ style. He imagined running in there, banging on the glass and screaming her name, “ _Rebecca! Rebecca!_ ”

And she would have looked up at him from the alter, surprised, but more than that… _relieved_. Relieved that she didn’t have to marry Josh because the person she was actually supposed to be with had come back for her. And she would have thrown the bouquet aside, and they would have engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the guests.

And at the end of this insane, Dustin Hoffman-fueled fantasy… it would have ended just like the movie.

Two broken, impulsive, confused people climbing onto the back of a bus to go _anywhere-but-here_. And the further they got from the church, the more their smiles would fade. They’d realize what a mistake they’d made, realize that their future was still so uncertain. They’d think about all the people they hurt…

...and then the credits would just roll.

_Game over._

_The end._

Even his wildest fantasies of Rebecca could never be quite as certain as he wanted them to be.

 

The squeaking sound of the swinging door pulls Greg from his thoughts, and the moment his eyes trail over to follow the source of the sound, all the air in Greg’s chest is stolen from him. It takes a few seconds to process what he’s seeing - no. Who he’s seeing.

But _there she is._

He knows she’s real and not just his imagination this time because she looks different: She has dark circles under her eyes, her complexion is paler, almost translucent. Her hair is darker now and it lays limply at her shoulders. If she _were_ an illusion, wouldn’t she look how he remembered her? Preserved in the back of his memory and filed away in a box labeled “ _do not open_?” Soft and glowing and sunkissed with light curls that bounce… that’s how he remembers her.

But it’s _unmistakably_ her.

He leers her from his stool as she is characteristically _oblivious_ of his presence. She wrestles with a pile of books in her arms, a yellow sundress swishing as she tries to find better footing on the uneven bar floor. He lowers his head, he’s not sure why.

_(Perhaps out of instinct?)_

He just knows he has an urge to hide away from her. His pulse is racing and his throat is already burning and _damn it, he should have gotten the vodka._

But no.

_No._

That’s not who Greg is anymore - he doesn’t use booze as a social lubricant for an awkward situation. That was who he _used_ to be. He’s _stronger_ now.

So, he looks up at her instead, deliberately trying to catch her gaze. She is searching around the bar for a place to sit, and she looks through him at first.

_Typical._

But then... her eyes widen and her face somehow pales more than it already was before.

She looks as though she’s seen a ghost.

Greg gives her a wry, tight smile and an even smaller wave. She blinks a few times, as if she thinks he’s going to disappear. She shakes her head.  

“ _Greg_ ,” she chokes out. There’s no smile for him, only shock. She steps toward him, but halts herself as though she is afraid to approach him. So she keeps a good distance between them. It is only a few feet, but it might as well be miles upon _miles_ upon agonizing, torturous miles. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She clears her throat, still wide-eyed and apprehensive as she asks, “What… _uh..._ what are you doing here?”

Greg’s brows pull together - it isn’t exactly the greeting he’d been picturing. Although, that isn’t saying much because he has no idea _what_ he’d been expecting. This is not how he imagined their first exchange after all this time.

But more than that, had she forgotten that this town was his _long_ before she ever blew into town?

_What, is she the Mayor of West Covina now?_

He swivels his barstool her way and, “Well, right now I’m _sitting_ ,” is his smartass reply. And he’s not even sure why. Old habits die hard, he supposes. “A few minutes ago, I was _standing._ ”

“What are you doing in West Covina?” she corrects sharply, but there’s no malice in her tone. Only nervousness. She groans, pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her newly-dark locks and mumbling to herself, “wait, like, you are _actually_ here, _right?_ You’re not just one of the _polterguys_ again-?”

Greg goes to answer, but then he actually _hears_ what she just asked him, “Wait, the _what?_ ”

She sucks in a breath, waving with her free hand, “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Seeing you _was-_ I mean, it’s _been-_ ” she stumbles over her words, unable to articulate anything coherent. Finally, she just sighs and sadly tells him, “I’ll just be going,” and she turns to walk back toward the front door of the bar.

And he almost lets her walk right back through it.

But, for some reason… he doesn’t.

“I’m just here to visit,” he calls out to her back. Her shoulders tense and she freezes, and when she turns to look at him again, she seems surprised he’s engaging with her at _all_. Her big, wondering green eyes search his as she hesitantly gravitates back toward him. She slides one foot closer to him, then the other.

“Oh,” she nearly whimpers. She opens her mouth, but then closes it again. Her lips fall into a familiar pout before she guesses, “Your _um…_ your _dad?_ ”

“Well, it _was_ to see my dad. But then I remembered he’s off on a singles cruise, probably screwing anything that _walks-_ ” Greg spits disapprovingly, inwardly cringing when he actually hears the crass words leave his lips. He stops himself when he sees the pained look on Rebecca’s face. She looks like she’s about to throw up, and the same part of him that wants to reach out to her and comfort her makes him lean back in his chair, instead. “You alright, there?”

“I‘m fine,” she says, holding back a retch. She rotates a finger at him to get him to keep talking while she swallows down whatever just crept up her esophagus.

“You don’t look so good,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

“Thanks,” she chirps back, sucking in another breath as though she just came up from drowning, “Just what _every_ girl likes to hear from her ex-boyfriend.” Greg chuckles at her attempt at humor and she forces a smile. He can tell it’s a forced one because it’s all too toothy. It’s _not_ a real one. When Rebecca smiles for real Greg is certain the earth stops moving.

“Were we _really_ exes though-?” he wonders, cocking his head to the side and instantly catching that this is _not_ a conversation they should be having. He’d meant it as a joke, but the way it stings in his own chest after he says it only tells him it’s _not_ funny.

Rebecca must agree - she ignores his question altogether and goes on to flatly ask, “no. _Seriously._ What are you doing in town?”

“I wanted to see the guys. I had a break in my studies... Is there a law that you can’t come back to West Covina after you leave?” he asks her somewhat huffily, but he can physically feel his barriers rising and he really doesn't want to be defensive. Although he feels vulnerable as he says it, he quietly tells her, “I just thought it was time.” There is a heavy silence between them. He reaches forward and pokes her in the arm, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. But he asks her, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I _um…_ ” Rebecca shakes off the daze she’s in from _actually_ seeing and talking to him again. She lifts the pile of books in her arms up higher so he can see them. “I got these workbooks from my therapist. Yeah… A-and I didn’t want to be at home because _no one_ will leave me _alone_ . There’s, like, constantly someone hovering around me. Which is obviously my _own_ fault, because no one trusts me around sharp objects, anymore. Which is _fine_ , like, whatever. I probably shouldn’t be alone, _anyway_ . But I had to get away from it, while not _totally_ being alone... _you know?_ And… uh… and then I remembered that _this_ was where _you..._ used to do your studying _and-”_

Greg can feel the corners of his mouth begin to pull; he’s _trying_ not to grin but… she’s here because she was thinking about him. And he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

He’s also trying not to smile because she’s rambling. She _knows_ that she’s rambling. She catches herself, taking in a labored breath and giving Greg a tight smile, “well. It seemed to work out so well for _you,_ after all...”

His already minuscule smile fades as he wonders if she _really_ believes that. She has _no_ idea how hard it’s been in Georgia, or how much he’s struggled… does she really think all he had to do was jump on a plane and start a new life and _forget about her_ and everything would just be _perfect?_

That everything was just _easy_ for him?

_This has been the hardest goddamned year of my life and every day that ends up being a good day is because I worked hard for it, damn it!_

He says none of this, however.

She shrugs a shoulder, tucking some loose hair behind her ear, “And, I dunno. I thought maybe some of that luck would rub off on me.”

He _wishes_ it were luck.

But it was work. It was tears and therapy and loneliness and throwing himself into school. It was _anything_ but luck.

Greg folds his lips and nods, no response immediately coming to him at first. She watches him as his hand comes up to run along his cheek, his mouth, and rests on his chin while he digests this entire bizarre situation they find themselves in.

Rebecca is unnerved at his lack of response. She has always been good at filling silences like this, _especially_ when she is nervous. He can see how bothered she is as she fidgets in front of him, shifting, _praying_ for him to break this silence. It’s killing her that he hasn’t responded yet.

He puts her out of her misery when his hand falls from his face to lifts his glass, “Well… cheers to that,” He says finally. Her eyes round with worry and her eyebrows slump with concern as she watches him tip it back and take a gulp.

“ _Oh_ , Greg. Is... _that-_ ”

“Seltzer water. Don’t worry,” He assures her, and he sees the relief paint her face. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a smooth, silver coin. He holds it up, “I got this a few weeks ago. _One_ year sober.”

“ _Wow_ ,” she says, taking the coin from him and admiring it as if it were an ancient artifact. “It’s already been over a year. Time sure flies...” She smiles up at him, but there’s still such a sadness in it - a strain.

“It _sure_ does,” he says.

_She’s changed._

The light behind her eyes that was seemingly ever-constant before has dimmed. It makes his heart ache a bit and he’s not sure why.

“How’d ya do it?” she wonders, cocking her head to the side and handing his coin back to him.

He holds it between his thumb and his index finger, shaking it with each enunciation of the words, “ _One..._ day... at... a... time.”

She blows a raspberry at him, waving him off playfully, “Oh, _everyone_ always says that.”

Greg smirks and tucks the coin back into his coat pocket, “Well, because it’s _true_. Two or three days at a time isn’t really an option now, is it?”

“That would make it a lot easier,” she says, once again focusing in on the easy way. “Sometimes I go to sleep and pray that when I wake up it will be a year from now.”

“The only way out is through,” Greg says, something he remembers Guardrail saying in AA. He liked it. It worked well for him, became a sort of mantra when things got rough. “You can’t skip the hard stuff.”

“Well…” she huffs out a humorless laugh. “I wish I woulda figured that one out a lot sooner.”

“If it’s any consolation, it took me a lot longer than it should have, too.” He thinks of every time he wanted to fast forward his life so he drowned himself in booze, blacking out whole sections of his life that he doesn’t even remember. So much wasted time. “I just came to realize that I can’t control what I do _tomorrow_ or a week from now. But I _can_ control what I do each moment. It’s a smaller scale. Easier to manage.”

“I _see…_ ”

He leans forward, and he swears he notices her mirror him and do the same as well.

“For example,  when I sat down at this bar a bit ago, I had to decide whether to order a _seltzer_ or a _vodka_. I don’t know if I’ll choose vodka tomorrow…. But I chose seltzer today.”

At first she looks enlightened, taking it all in. And then she says dryly, “You should write self-help books.”

“Actually I’m thinking that with my smooth, velvety voice, a podcast might be the way to go,” he jokes back. “Maybe Hector’s mom will hook me up.”

This is going too smoothly, too _easy_. He doesn’t trust it. He feels his body language change, his arms crossing over his chest to shield him because his stupid brain and mouth don’t seem to be doing the job.

He knows better than this.

He can tell she is feeling the same way. Rebecca’s smile fades and she shifts her weight on her feet from side to side. Her patience running out as she blurts, “okay I need to go sit, these books are actually heavier than they look.”

“They _look_ heavy,” Greg replies evenly. She bites her bottom lip, her big glossy eyes peering back at him with a sort of hopefulness that always seems to pull him in.

Drowns him.

It’s suffocating, but not in the way he minds.

More the way that makes him feel needed. Wanted. He remembered when just one look from Rebecca could send him spiraling. It feels different now, but in some ways the same.

He knows what she wants. She _wants_ him to ask her to stay, ask her to sit beside him. He’s still not sure that’s the best decision for him…

But it’s exactly as he just told her. He is in control of his decisions from moment to moment. And right now, at least in _this_ moment… he _wants_ her to stay.

“Or you can sit _here…_ if you want.”

“O-okay.” She says like she wasn’t actually expecting him to offer. She clears her throat, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She points her thumb back at one off the booths across the bar, “but can we sit in a booth, maybe? So I can sprawl out? I really want to crack these books open. Not gonna overcome my slew of mental issues standin’ around here all day.”

Greg feels his grin grow, despite himself.

“Alright, Bunch.”

“Bunch,” she breathes back at him, a short, exhausted laugh following from her lips. “Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that. It’s nice.” There it is again, that desperation she exudes. She treats her own last name as a pet name, a term of endearment all because she so badly wants it to _mean_ something.

Greg picks up his drink, “Did you want to order anything?” he asks her. She bites her bottom lip contemplatively, but then decides on a seltzer water with lemon to match his. “You know, you can drink around me. It doesn’t bother me.”

“No, it’s okay. I honestly don’t know the rules with this sorta stuff right now…” she admits, “I don’t think alcohol is the best idea for me right now, anyway.” The bartender slides her glass across the bar at her, and the two of them wordlessly take their drinks and squeeze into the booth in the corner. Once they settle in, Rebecca doesn’t hesitate to spread her books out across the table.

“So,” Greg huffs, breaking the silence. “Therapy, huh?” It’s the only thing he can think to lead with, and thank god Rebecca’s never been the type to get offended too easily.

Well, unless he teases her about veganism.

She pulls a smile from nowhere as she searches in her bookbag for a pen, “ _Yup_ . With a capital _T_.”

“I was doing that.”

“Therapy?”

“Yep.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows rise and she almost looks impressed, “ _Wooow_ , an enlightened dude like you? That makes me feel a little bit better, actually.”

“Well it shouldn’t.” They both chuckle, and this is easy. Too easy. It unnerves in immediately, but he tries to push through it, if only just to prove to himself that he can. “No, but really. It helped the transition a lot. I am glad you’re doing it.”

Rebecca twirls her pen between her fingers, her other hand propping up her chin on the table, “But you’re not in therapy anymore?”

“Well, not right this _second_ , no.” And there’s the sarcasm again. He hates that he can’t stop himself as the words and tone come out of his mouth.

He knows it’s a defense mechanism, and while he’s grown, some things are too tied to his personality to really change.

He is relieved when she laughs, though.

“You know what I mean… What, did you graduate to a whole ‘nother level of enlightenment? Are you a buddhist now?”

“I’m sorta in between therapists right now. Mine is out for paternity leave.”

“Wow, how progressive.”

“ _So?_ ” he hums into his glass and it seems to echo back out. “How’s the therapy going? You should really find out what the heck happened at taco fest,” he teases.

Her eyes narrow, “oh, ha-ha. I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Oh, c’mon. I’m just teasing. Really, how is it going? It can be really intense those first couple sessions. Are you okay?”

“Uh… let’s see,” she muses, looking toward the ceiling as she pulls the answer from that big, complicated brain of hers. He recognizes her tone. She’s about to make light of a serious situation. She’s always been good at that. “Well, so far I’ve had _one_ session. Got a new diagnosis. _Fought_ said diagnosis. Went through the most basic stages of grief. But now I’ve reached acceptance and I’m ready to _crush_ it.”

“Ah,” he nods, and it comes out as almost a hiss. His eyes narrow almost playfully, “You’ve been busy.”

She lifts her hands and wiggles her fingers like they are jazz hands, “Busy is good. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”

“What’s the diagnosis?” he dares. Rebecca’s head whips back as though she’s been smacked, but she hucks out a short, uncomfortable laugh.

“That’s sort of a rude question.”

“Oh, c’mon. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” She squirms a bit in her seat, uncomfortably. He doesn’t _want_ to make her uncomfortable, he just as well assumes they are _far_ past the point of pleasantries. “I’ll even go first; Hi,” He extends his hand out to shake hers. She eyes him apprehensively, then timidly takes his hand. He leans in ever-so-slightly, “My name is Greg, and I’m an alcoholic.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrow devilishly, “does that work on _all_ the ladies?”

“You know it.”

There’s another silence before Rebecca blurts out, “I know this is going to sound really weird but… this is really nice.”

“Yeah,” Greg agrees. And it’s the truth. It is nice. It feels… freeing in a way. Healing. But she blinks a few times, and her eyes are glossy and he recognizes that look. She’s idealizing him, reading into things. He isn’t in a place to even entertain the idea, nor is she. So he makes sure to add, “I think it’s better that we just keep it light… for both of our sakes.”

“Oh…” Rebecca nods - a little too enthusiastically. “Yes, definitely. Good idea.”  

Her eyes linger on his face for a little too long, so he asks her, “are you actually going to study, or…-” Rebecca answers his question by popping the book shut and scooting it to the side.

“I’m not really in the mood.”

“Fair enough,” Greg says, leaning back into the rubbery seat of the torn-up booth. He picks up a peanut from the bowl in front of him, cracking one open. She does the same. “So… You come here a lot?” he asks before nibbling on a peanut.

“Is that a pickup line?”

“I think you know we’re well past that.” He says this as a joke, but there’s so much seriousness behind it that it almost catches them both off guard. Rebecca goes to answer him but hesitates. He nods her on and she cocks her head to the side, shyly asking,  
“Would it be weird to say only when I want to feel close to you?”

Her words stop his heart. It’s such a loaded statement that he can’t help but bite.

“You… you want to feel close to me?”

“Uh, yeah. Like… you left and I really hated you for that. For like a long time. But I started to realize why you left. And what role I had in that.

Before, when I needed advice or to see things clearly, I always used to come… to you. So coming here makes me feel like… like I’m at least attempting to get my life together.”

There’s another long, heavy silence between them as he processes everything she’s just said. He watches as her bottom lip is caught beneath her white teeth and she bites, nervously.

“...so much for keeping it light, _huh?_ ” he teases. She crinkles her nose, barely chuckling.

“ _Sorry_.”

“Don’t be.” Greg fidgets with the shells on the table, his eyes slowly trailing back to her face. “You sure you want to do this?” She says nothing, only nods back at him. “I am sorry for a lot of things, Rebecca…” His voice cracks as he tries to keep the emotion from it. She leans in, hanging on his every word. He softly shakes his head, “but I’m not sorry for leaving.”

“I know,” her voice croaks, raw with emotion as well. “I know why you had to go. It just… it took a long time for me to accept that.”

Greg scoffs from his nose and can’t stop himself before he says, “well, it didn’t take too long.”

Rebecca sits back in her booth, her arms coming up to cross over her chest, “what does that mean?”

“I got an invitation to your wedding like… two months after I left. It doesn’t seem like it took all that long for you to accept why I left-”

“That is not fair,” she hisses. “What was I supposed to do? Just be miserable?”

Greg just stares at her. While so much had changed… nothing had.

“And this is why I didn’t want to do this,” he says, scooting out of the booth.

“Wait, Greg. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He waits and sees the pink drain from her cheeks as she calms down. “I’m a little defensive.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“I really am happy you’re happy, Greg,” she assures him, and the look in her eyes tells him that she’s telling him the truth. “I mean… with your… your girlfriend?”

Greg recalls what Paula had said at the hospital, about how Rebecca had run into his dad and heard he was happy and in love.

“Yeah, I… I saw you called that night. I almost called you back I just… I couldn’t.”

Something about the way she looks at him right now tells him that she really, really wishes that he would have. Like it would have changed so much. But he can’t think like that. He knows he needs to focus on now, not what they could have done differently.

“But I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You don’t.” It’s not a question, just a statement. Her chest deflates at her words, her face growing wanner than before. “You’re… your dad said-”

“Yeah, I know what he said. We had this plan that if he ever ran into you, he wasn’t allowed to tell you anything other than the fact that I was happy and sober. I have no idea why he chose to go off book.

“Mmm-hmm…” she swallows, taking a gulp of her seltzer. She coughs, nearly choking.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah…”

“Look,” he sighs, “I’m really sorry… if that… you know... set you _off-”_

“Oh, no, no, no,” she insists. “I mean… it was more salt in the wound than anything but…” She reaches forward, her hand resting atop his. He can’t help but stare down at it. It seems so unreal. “Greg I’m really happy you’re happy. You’re happy… _right?_ ”

Her own words echo his.

“I’m getting there.” She smiles. It’s a real one this time. “I mean… AA can be a bit redundant, but I have a good safety net there. My grades are pretty much awesome, thank you. But sometimes it gets to be a lot, all at once. I swear, at one point I felt like if I heard the serenity prayer one more time I was going to blow my brains out…”

 _NO,_ his brain screams at him. _WRONG choice of words. Very wrong._  

“Er… _Sorry._ ”

“So… I am guessing you heard then?”

“Yeah… you want to talk about it?”

Rebecca just shakes her head, and he respects that, even if she never wants to talk about it at all. There are tears in her eyes as she confesses, “I just realized… that no one had ever loved me. And the ones who _did_ always leave.”

“I _loved_ you,” Greg says, and it startles them both how easily it seems to slip from his lips. “It’s just… for once, I had to love _me_ more.”

Rebecca smiles softly, wiping a tear from her cheek that had somehow escaped. And then through the tears, her smile brightens. She laughs.

"Wait... did you come visit me? In the hospital?"

Greg's smile drops and he can only assume he looks guilty, " _what? No._ "

"Are you sure?"

"Why are you asking me this?" he laughs now, but mostly just at the fact that she's laughing so much. It's infectious.

"I just... I woke up and I saw that balloon you got me? Remember, the one with Jesus riding a dinosaur?"

"Unicorn," he corrects too quickly, almost under his breath. "Go on?"

"And it was in the trash. Was that... _you?_ " She sort of simpers, hopefully. 

"Nope. But uh, whoever did get it for you clearly has an amazing sense of humor and excellent taste."

"It made me laugh," she admits. Good. That was what he got it for. He is glad he still knows her after all this time. "Paula said it was the cleaning lady..."

"She always has the strangest nicknames for me..." he winks. And he obviously doesn't have to tell her that he came home for her.

She already knows.

“I always wished I could have met you at a different time," she tells him, softly. "When I was ready for you.”

“Me too.”

* * *

By the time they leave the bar, it’s late. There’s a nip in the air, which is strange for southern California this time of year. They have barely made it to the corner before he looks down and sees that her nose is pink from the cold.

“You never said what your diagnosis is,” Greg says, jingling the keys to his rental car in his hand. This is the part where they would kiss, if they were on kissing terms.

“Next time,” she smirks.

“Okay. Next time.” They make it to the parking lot and he gestures at the blue Hyundai, “this is me, then.”

“Sweet ride,” she jokes, but then her smile fades and she pleads, “Will you see me again before you go back to Atlanta?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

They just stare at one another for a moment, but then she takes a step closer to him. Rebecca slowly, hesitantly, wraps her arms around his waist.

His hands hover over her back for just a moment while he debates whether or not he should be hugging her back.

He decides no, no he shouldn’t.

But he finds himself doing it anyway.

He rests his cheek on the top of her head and she still smells the same. It makes his heart feel both heavier and lighter, somehow.

“You’ve lost weight,” she comments, mumbling mostly into his shirt.

“Yeah. That’s one of the perks of being sober. I’m not bloated with booze and drunken _middle-of-the-night_ tacos anymore.”

“Just regular tacos.”

“ _Right_ .”  
  
And then, despite everything, he feels the gravity shift. It’s everything he’s been afraid of.  
  
_BOOM._  
  
Feelings.

* * *

 

TBC


	5. we get each other; we get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry for the delay. I got a little dispassionate about CEG but the recent Greg recasting has reinvigorated me. So… Here you go!

 

* * *

Greg's phone bursts to life wildly in the middle of the night, nearly giving him a heart attack.

He fumbles in the dark before he finds his cell phone on the nightstand. He squints at the screen - it's a ' _Words with Friends'_  alert:  _Rebecca Bunch has started a new game._

_Wow… she doesn't waste any time._

He blinks away the groggy sleep from his eyes, trying to protect his retinas - which are currently being burned out of his eyeballs by the blinding light of his phone screen.

Greg considers clicking the screen back to black and rolling over to snooze for a few more hours. But first, he looks at the time - 3:47 am. Pretty late (or early, rather) to be starting a new game. She must be…  _thinking about him?_

He taps on the app.

Rebecca has played the word  _Ephemeral._

He is ashamed to say, he has to google it. He knows he has heard this word at some point in his lifetime, but never actually used in a sentence.

He clumsily mistypes it into the google search bar of his internet browser: " _wphemerl."_

Google is smug and quickly corrects him:  _Did you mean_ _ **ephemeral?**_

 **e·** _ **phem**_ **·er·al**  
_əˈfem(ə)rəl_  
adjective  
1\. lasting for a very short time.

He doesn't read into it.

It's just a random chance that her assortment of letters would make such an ominous word - that happens to land on Double word space, giving her 36 points  _right off the bat_. He glances at his own letters, most of which are unusable (I mean, who needs two " _Qs"_ and a " _Z?"_ )

And as much as he wants to dazzle her with his intellect… he's half-asleep and too groggy for all this thinking. So he lazily begins to play the word, ' _egg.'_  - although, he's not proud of it.

But before he places the second " _G"_ , he scans his letters one more time, and decides upon " _epoch,"_ for 26 points, instead.

 **ep·och**  
ˈepək/  
_noun_  
1\. a period of time in history or a person's life, typically one marked by notable events or particular characteristics.

Yeah… that seems...  _about_  right.

* * *

"So. I,  _uh…"_

The syllables dance on the tip of Greg's tongue as he contemplates whether or not to tell Josh about his encounter with Rebecca the day before. His eyes tentatively flash up to his friend sitting across from him in the booth at Home Base.

"What's up?" Josh asks distantly, only half-paying attention as he fiddles with his phone - probably taking a picture of his chili-cheese fries for Instagram or something dumb.

_Hashtag #lame._

Greg never had an Instagram, never saw the appeal. But Josh has always been social-media savvy, so he's used to his friend's attention wavering in and out while he lets the entire world know his whereabouts.

"I saw Rebecca yesterday," Greg blurts out quickly - it feels a lot like ripping off a band-aid.

_Bingo, Bango, done._

_That_ seems to get Josh's attention.

His stare flickers up from his phone screen, his expression unreadable.

"Oh…  _Really?_ " he perks up, leaning forward on the table. His dark eyes round with curiosity, " _And?_  H-how is she?"

Greg folds his lips, nods slowly.

"She seems…  _good_ , actually," he divulges. He can see his words processing in Josh's mind, almost see his wheels turning. "Well, as good as can be expected, ya know.  _For Rebecca…_ "

Josh's usually bright face falls as he says, "I'm sure she had  _a lot_  to say about me…"

"Uh… no, actually."

Greg's response seems to surprise him.

" _...No?"_

Greg leans back in his booth, his finger nervously tracing circles in the condensation of his frosty soda glass, "No, your name didn't even come up."

Josh falls back too, huffing out a resigned sigh, " _Wow_. she must  _really_  hate me then, huh?" Greg narrows his gaze, wincing his face at his oldest friend and clicking his tongue. His head cocks to the side as he wonders if Josh was  _always_  this self-involved, or if he's just now truly noticing  _just_  how self-involved he can be.

"That's the thing... I don't think she does. It was almost like… like you were  _irrelevant."_

He hadn't anticipated how painful such a statement like that might seem to Josh, but the moment he sees it on Josh's expressive face, he feels bad. He tries again, "She just seems focused on getting better, you know?" he adds to soften the blow. "I don't think she's mad at anyone."

Relief seems to wash over Josh, smoothing the severe line on his brow, "Oh. Well, I guess that's good." Still, Greg isn't quite convinced.

"You don't seem like you mean that…"

Josh's shoulders slump, dejectedly, " _I just…_  I guess I just spent so long being  _Valencia's_  boyfriend, and then  _Rebecca's_  boyfriend - Rebecca's  _fiance-_ "

"Don't forget Anna," WhiJo adds, appearing seemingly from nowhere and settling into the booth beside Josh. He sets down his beer bottle, seamlessly joining into the conversation.

"There was a  _third?_ " Greg says, eyes wide and mouth agape. "How do you have the energy? I can hardly lock down  _one_  woman..."

With a friendly pat on the back, WhiJo teases, "With your laundry list of issues, that's probably a  _good_  thing." Greg shoots him a look, but his friend just shrugs back at him, taking a sip of his beer.

Josh waves WhiJo off dismissively, turning back to Greg, "don't mind  _him_ ; he and Darryl are having problems so he's  _extra_  judgy."

"So I see," Greg hums back, but WhiJo is both unoffended and unfazed.

Josh sighs again, "anyway, I'm just… I'm glad she's feeling better."

There is a long, awkward silence between the three of them, until WhiJo finally asks aloud, "seriously,  _why_  are all of my friends in love with this girl?"

Josh and Greg exchange glances but before they can even answer, Greg's phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out without thinking. It's another word game alert:  _Rebecca has played the word Quixotic._

Now,  _that_  one hurts.

Not only did she find a way to use a "Q" & an "X", but she also hit a Triple Word space, garnering her a whopping  _84 points_.

_Unbelievable._

The alert is followed immediately by a private message. Rebecca has  _slid into his DMs_  just to gloat: "suck it, Serrano," she writes, followed by a kissy face emoji.

Greg finds himself smirking down at his phone despite himself, but it doesn't last long. He knows he should be concerned that they are already back on emoji and pet-name terms, so fast.

"What are you smiling at over there?" WhiJo wonders, and it snaps Greg back to reality.

Greg's eyes rise guiltily and his face falls, " _what?_  I'm  _not_. I'm not smiling,  _you're_  smiling-" He takes pause and breathes slowly though his nose, his eyes fluttering shut in mortification when he hears how defensive he sounds.

"Uh… ya  _were_. But okay," WhiJo snorts into the neck of his beer and shakes his head. "Georgia made you  _weird_ , Serrano," he observes before tipping the bottle back.

"Wait… Are you talking to a  _girl?_ " Josh wonders, suddenly intrigued. Color Greg surprised that Josh shows more interest in any topic revolving around a potential love interest than he does for most other things.

" _No._ "

"That was a  _talking-to-a-girl_  smile," Josh accuses, and neither Greg  _nor_  WhiJo bother to say that of all of them,  _he_  would know, because the joke is just too obvious. "Did you meet a girl back in Georgia? Are you seeing someone?"

"I am starting to think none of my conversations lately would pass the reverse Bechdel test," Greg observes, shaking his head, disapprovingly. "And since when do you guys care about stuff like this?"

"I don't know, man. There's been a real shift around here since you left," WhiJo admits painedly, as though he didn't even realize just how much things had changed yet stayed the same until this moment. He shakes it off, his gaze back to Greg, "so. How long are you staying?"

_Huh._

Greg hadn't totally thought about that. He supposes it should be sooner than later - he has responsibilities back in Georgia. A life. Not much of a life, but a life nonetheless.

"I'm not sure," is the only thing he can think to reply. Greg takes another drink off his soda, then scoots himself out of the booth. "I've got to get to a meeting. I'll see you guys soon."

They say their goodbyes, and Greg turns to head out to the meeting hall on East Cameron. If he's not mistaken, there is a meeting at noon today.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, staring down at that word again:

 **quix·ot·ic**  
_/kwikˈsädik/_  
adjective  
1\. exceedingly idealistic; unrealistic and impractical.

Another word that's eerily fitting.

But he can't help but notice that those same letters can also spell out the word  _ **t-o-x-i-c**_. But that's got to be just another weird coincidence….

Although, nothing feels like a coincidence, anymore.

 _Yeah…_ he needs to get down to that meeting.

 _Immediately_.

* * *

Greg clutches the pink box of donuts to his chest as he enters the old, musty, familiar smell of the meeting hall. It fills his nose and reminds him of the toughest time of his life - strange the way smells can catapult you back to a state of being that way.

Just like the smell of her hair made his heart jump to his throat.

He shakes the thoughts away. He's getting tired of these memories knocking him off-balance.

" _Wow!_  Welcome back Emory-" Guardrail sees him and calls out from the front of the room. Greg smiles, holding up the box of donuts as a  _hello_.

Guardrail stands and offers him a very rare smile as well as a partial hug - although it's more of a glorified handshake.

"So did that nickname catch on  _orrr-?"_  Greg wonders, mentally noting he'd been called it more than once since he'd been home. "Because I don't mind it. It's better than some of my other nicknames that have stuck over the years." He sets the box down on the gray, plastic tabletop with a sharp  _plop_.

Guardrail ignores Greg's completely rhetorical question, instead eyeing the box with suspicion, "Those aren't those  _fancy-schmancy_  donuts you got before, are they?"

"Nope. They are your regular, generic, day-old donuts from the grocery on East Cameron."

" _Nice,"_  The biker hisses, rubbing his hands together approvingly. He opens the box to take a peek inside as though he doesn't totally believe him. "So, what are you doing back in town?"

"Just a visit. Wanted to see some old friends-"

"Friends  _like…_  that pretty lawyer lady that just tried to kill herself?"

The blow takes Greg aback and he can feel his face twist up into a grimace.

"Wow, Guardrail. That was…  _blunt._ "

Guardrail merely shrugs, reminding him over a mouthful of stale donut, "oh, c'mon. It's right there in the steps -  _Rigorous Honesty_."

" _Rigorous_. Not  _brutal…_ "

He waves a dismissive hand in Greg's general direction, "Tomato,  _to-mah-to_."

Greg reaches for the familiar white binder on the table that holds today's meeting agenda, beginning to thumb through it. He thinks he'll ask to read the  _A.A. Preamble_  at the beginning of the meeting. When he turns to suggest it to Guardrail, he's surprised to see him staring at him, skeptically.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

" _Hmm?"_ Greg hums, his eyes widening with innocence. "About what?"

Guardrail pulls out a chair with a long, metallic groan across the tiled floor and takes a seat.

"About whatever it is that's giving you  _resting Maggie Smith face_ ," he says, his hand extending out to invite Greg to sit in the metal chair across from him. Greg doesn't move, though - he was hoping this meeting would be a welcome distraction from his thoughts as well as a much-needed refresher since he'd been feeling so weak lately.

" _Oh_. I uh… I dunno," he stammers, his hands waving to halt him. "I sort of think saying it aloud might make it all a little  _too_  real right now."

Guardrail leans forward, clasping his hands together on the plastic fold-out table, "gotta face it  _sometime._  Keeping things bottled  _leads_ to the bottle."

"Nice one," Greg comments, offering him a high-five.

"Coined it," Guardrail replies, catching it. "But anyway. If it's something that is making you thirsty, you should probably unload it here."

A short silence settles between them and Greg knows Guardrail is right - he usually is.

"Ok. Um. So…" he begins, hesitantly, He clears his throat to keep his voice from cracking, "So about the pretty lawyer lady-"

" _Called_  it."

" _Yeah_. You're pretty wise," Greg nods but continues on. "So, it's like… I  _literally_  uprooted my entire life to move 3000 miles just to get her out of my head-"

"I think that's giving her a little too much credit, don't you think?" Guardrail muses. "You had this great opportunity to move on and go back to school. And from the sounds of it… you guys were a real  _shitshow_. It was probably for the best."

"Totally," Greg agrees, but then his breath hitches and his bottom lip catches under his teeth. He bites down, unsure how to say the thing that has been dancing around in his brain since the moment he found out about Rebecca's incident. "It's just… even when I was away, she never felt that far, you know? And even though I'm back, it doesn't feel like I've really  _come_  back. This whole last year I've felt like I'm just… hovering in some kind of purgatory. I haven't been able to sort my feelings out where she's concerned since the moment I left her at the airport. I was so busy trying to stay sober and prove that my life was better in Atlanta, that it's like I forgot to actually  _deal_  with any of it. But then I saw her yesterday and it felt like crash-landing back to earth and-"

"And now all those ugly, complicated feelings were still here waiting for you, huh?"

Greg sighs, his shoulders slumping as he fidgets with his fingers in his lap, "to say the least."

"Look. I can't tell you how to live your life, Greg. But I can tell you that you'll have to get to the ugly parts soon enough. You can't really recover from something, even a relationship, if you never allow yourself to figure out what it is about it that made it so hard to leave in the first place. Remember step 1?"

_Step 1: Admit we were powerless over our addictions and compulsive behaviors, that our lives had become unmanageable._

"Of course."

Guardrail goes on, "They call them steps because they are like a dance. 1-2-3, 1-2-3…. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. You'll revisit them and have to keep working the program. It works for life, too. You have to admit that you still have unresolved feelings for this woman - regardless of how badly you don't want to. The only way out is through. You can't just skip the hard stuff." Guardrail's words mind Greg of his own, and he even lets out a light laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

" _Funny_. I literally told her that yesterday."

"Well, sounds like you're having a hard time following your own advice. You should really stop that - it's  _good_  advice."

Greg sits back in his chair - this has all been a lot to digest today; first the  _Words with Friends_  game with Rebecca, the conversation with Josh… and now this. One thing was sure: even though he'd seen and talked to Rebecca yesterday, he'd only just barely scratched the surface in terms of what he still needed to say to her.

And he knew he couldn't go back to Georgia without clearing the air for good. He needed to get her out of his system, one way or another…  _whatever_  that meant.

* * *

Greg lets himself into his hotel room, plopping down on the end of the bed and staring at his phone in his hand. He'd spent the rest of the day after his meeting wandering, trying to figure out the right things to say - what was there to say?

About an hour ago, he'd received a message from Rebecca through their Words with Friends chat: " _? ? ?"_

He hadn't responded.

Firstly, she was kicking his butt at this game and his ego wasn't appreciating it,  _thankyouverymuch_.

But secondly… he was losing his nerve. Maybe he was wrong - maybe he was overthinking it. Yesterday had been so jarring with all those feelings and emotions plaguing him the moment he felt the weight of her body in his arms again. It was like a million years and miles had distanced them, but in that moment he felt exactly back where he was before he left. Which… he wasn't sure was a good thing for him.

_Not one bit._

And today just proved it. He was acting like the old Greg, hiding from her the way he had been all day. He didn't want to face those feelings again. And he figured it had something to do with how good it felt. He knew where that feeling always led for him.

For them.

His phone vibrates in his hand.

It's her:  _it got weird, didn't it?_

He sucks in a quick, brave breath and clicks open the keyboard on his phone. His fingers hover over the screen before he can bring himself to type out a simple message:

 _**Greg:** _ _hey._

He sends it off and holds his breath. It takes less than a minute before she responds.

 _ **Rebecca:**_   _ah, there you are._

 _ **Rebecca:**_   _I was starting to think I scared you off._

 _ **Greg:**_   _sorry. busy day today catching up._

 _ **Rebecca:**_   _speaking of catching up…_

 _ **Rebecca:**_   _what are you doing?_

This was the sort of exchange he'd been afraid of, but he wasn't feeling as apprehensive about it as he had before. He knew where this was heading… still he couldn't stop himself from quickly typing back:

 _ **Greg:**_   _just resting… why? what's up?_

 _ **Rebecca:**_   _Well, I'm craving tacos…_

 _ **Rebecca:**_   _my treat?_

Greg's stomach gurgles excitedly in response, and he realizes he is silly to even think that he would be able to say no to her. Or at the very least, say no to tacos. Before he can change his mind, he writes her back:

 _ **Greg:**_   _what time?_

* * *

Greg checks the address on his GPS as he pulls along the curb in front of Rebecca's (new) place. He squints at the metal numbers along the exterior to make sure they match. The place looks oddly familiar, and he can't figure out where he'd seen it before.

 _Wait… wasn't this that place all those drug dealers got murdered?_  He recalls to himself but decides that's not important right now. What is important is that he faces his fears and finds the will to get out of his car and approach the front door.

He is surprised, however, to round the corner and nearly knock right into someone leaving Rebecca's just as he's coming up.

"Whoa!" Greg exclaims, finding his footing before tripping backward.

"Hey!" The tall, blonde man utters, doing the same. After both find their balance, the man is looking at Greg as though he's some kind of intruder. And once Greg gets a good look back at  _him_ , all kinds of  _alpha-male_  alarms start going off in his head - this is exactly the kind of dudes he avoids. He somehow just knows this, instinctively.

 _He looks like the douchey villain in an 80's skiing movie_ , Greg thinks to himself.

He watches as the man somehow seems to stand up even taller ( _and what is he, a goddamned Sequoia?_ ) and puff out his chest a bit. Greg can't help but think of his father's macaws, circling each other in a pecking contest. He looks Greg up and down - from the look on his face, he hardly seems impressed.

Then why does he seem so threatened?

"Uh…  _Hi…?_ " Greg shoves his hands in his pockets, leaning back on his heels as the guy continues to gawk at him.

The man shakes off his stupor before asking, "I'm sorry,  _are..._ are you here to see  _Rebecca?_ "

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's happening here - Greg deduces that this is another soul Rebecca managed to ensnare with her charm and adorableness. Although… this is hardly the kind of guy Greg would expect to be leaving her house.

Actually, on second thought, no. This is  _exactly_ the kind of guy Greg would expect to be leaving her house. Somehow, he's not surprised.

"Uh… yeah? Why?"

The other man's incredulous gaze falls back at Rebecca's front door and he scoffs, shaking his head. The door cracks open and Rebecca comes outside to see Greg and the blonde guy staring back at her. Her eyes round and her face drops a bit. Her hands clench and unclench and Greg can see her nerves radiating from her very core. Her eyes dart between the two of them, her posture shrinking when the man asks, " _Who_  is  _he?"_

Greg is immediately put off by the tone. He steps forward, not caring that the guy looms over him, intimidatingly.

" _He_  is Greg," he answers when Rebecca initially stalls. "And  _he_  is not invisible. So..."

Rebecca shakes her curls, clearing her throat as she goes on to explain, "this is an old friend of mine."

"More like 'old ' _words-with-friends_ ' with benefits," Greg cracks before muttering to Rebecca under his breath, " _coined_  it."

She rewards his snark with a snort and a high five, but then her smile drops and she composes herself under the man's glower. Greg is certain he's never seen her fire snuffed out so quickly.

She clears her throat again, gesturing between the two of them meekly, "um, right. Greg, this is Nathaniel. Nathaniel, this is Greg."

"Hi," Greg greets again, extending his hand out to shake Nathaniel's, only to have him ignore him completely and turn back to Rebecca.

"So. Then, I guess  _this_  is what you meant when you said you were busy tonight?" Nathaniel ventures.

"Well, Greg's just in town for a little while-"

" _Got_  it," Nathaniel snaps before she can even finish her thought. Greg briefly considers stepping between the two of them and defending her, but at the same time,  _it's Rebecca_. He doesn't know their situation - she has a way of getting herself into awkward situations, and he of all people should know that. Still, he feels his fists ball and his face run hot at the energy surrounding the two of them. Something just…  _isn't right._

Nathaniel's glare burns holes in Rebecca and she seems physically affected by it. He then turns to Greg, politely telling him to "have a great night," but it sounds a whole lot like " _fuck you_."

Greg makes sure to match his tone when he mutters, "Same to  _you_ , buddy." He waits until Nathaniel is out of earshot before jutting a thumb out in Nathaniel's direction, "what the hell was  _that_  about?"

Rebecca is dazed, but she once again shakes it off, her smile returning.

It's fake.

It makes Greg's stomach sink.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He's just a drama queen," she says, waving him off. Her eyes dance when they lock with Greg's, and the harsh lines of her smile soften into something a little more sincere as she assures him, "I'm  _really_  glad you're here."

"Me too," Greg replies, and it isn't even a lie.

They head toward Greg's car, and he wants so badly to ask her more about Nathaniel but decides against it - it's not his business, and she clearly didn't want to talk about it. So he lets it go… for now. He will definitely remember to bring it back up at a different time.

Greg climbs in the driver's seat while Rebecca does the same on the passenger side.

"I forgot to ask… Where are you even staying?" Rebecca asks as she reaches over her shoulder to wrestle with the seatbelt. It's locked, so she tugs on it a few times to no avail. Greg chuckles, reaching over her to help. It loosens on the first pull. Her eyebrows raise as though she's impressed.

" _Woooow_ ," she purrs. "You just have the magic touch." She takes the seat belt buckle from him and fastens herself the rest of the way in.

"You seem surprised but I'm pretty sure that's not the first time you've dished that compliment out to me," Greg recalls and he swears he can see her cheeks slightly rouge red. He catches himself admiring the shade a little too much, so instead, he sits forward, buckling himself in as well.

"Why do you want to know where I'm staying? Are you trying to stalk me?"

"Ha-ha-ha. You wish, Serrano."

"No… no, I don't suppose anyone  _wishes_  to be stalked. Even if it's by a pretty girl."

His eyes roll back and flutter closed in mortification of what he just said as soon as he hears it…  _Why the hell does his mouth decide to say things aloud without his permission?_

Rebecca doesn't seem fazed, just casually assures him, "I think my stalking days are behind me."

"That's probably for the best." They laugh lightly as he starts up the engine, releasing the parking brake and pulling out onto the road. "But um, to answer your question, I opted for the  _ever-classy_  Days Inn on East Cameron."

" _Ooooh_. Fancy."

"Yeah, not really. But thanks."

There's an easy lull in their conversation and he can tell she wants to say something as she wrings her hands beside him.

"Hey, so… I know this is going to sound really weird," she starts timidly.

"Uh,  _huh..._  that's no real surprise."

She ignores him.

As she  _should._

"But… Can I come over and study at your hotel sometime?"

He peels his eyes from the road to see her slightly apprehensive look on her face, "this is starting to feel like a thinly-veiled attempt to seduce me…" he teases, but his tone falls flat. Because even though he's teasing her, he couldn't be any more serious.

"Kinda the last thing on my mind these days, to be honest."

"Oh. Well. I'm so flattered, thanks."

"Yeah, yeah,  _yeah_."

"Why can't you study at home? Or the study bar?"

She sighs deeply, clawing her fingernails through her hair and nestling back in the seat.

"I don't know I think… I think I just need to be around someone that doesn't treat me differently. Doesn't treat me like I am this fragile, broken person."

"But… you are a fragile, broken person… ' _To Broken People_ ,' remember? We even cheersed on it. You're the most broken person I know." He glances at her sideways and offers her a soft smirk. She leans her head back on the headrest and reciprocates.

She scrunches her nose, "See? You don't treat me any differently than the usual, dickish Greg Serrano we all know and love."

Greg feels his smile slowly dissipate. He knows he needs to face her head on and they still have a lot to discuss, but this seems all a bit…  _soon_.

_Too soon._

"Look, Bunch. I'm not sure it's a good idea-"

"I already said I'm not trying to seduce you!" Her voice squeaks defensively. She sits more erect, turning her body towards his. He can see her in his peripheral. "I'll keep my hands to myself, scout's honor-"

"It's not that-"

"What is it?" she presses. "Too soon? Too fast? You hate me?"

Greg pulls the car off to the side of the road abruptly, pushing the gear in park. Rebecca's jaw unhinges and she looks at him quizzically. He turns to face her as well.

"What are yo-"

"I'm not going to let you use me to punish yourself, Rebecca." He watches her breath escape her lips at his words, her eyes instantly beginning to gloss over. "You have to stop beating yourself up. You want to be around me so I can join you in a good old-fashioned Greg and Rebecca barb fest. But I'm not that person anymore."

" _Greg-_ "

"And you know what?" his voice shakes, regardless of how much he tries to stop it. "Rebecca, I'm  _glad_ I'm not that person anymore. I  _hated_  that guy. You shouldn't  _want_  to be around him."

"Well. When you put it  _that_ way…" she jokes without humor. He watches as her lip slightly quivers and she swallows down the lump in her throat. He'd be lying if he wasn't choking one down, himself.

"I think we have a lot to talk about. But first I want you to know you don't deserve to be treated badly. By  _me_. By  _yourself…_ " Greg's words trail off, and he considers stopping there. But he just has to say it: "And  _certainly_  not by that Nathaniel guy. Look, I don't know what the deal is between you two, and I'm not even sure I want to. But you deserve love, Rebecca. You deserve to be treated well."

She seems a bit shellshocked, and Greg would be lying if he wasn't a little surprised at himself, as well. She nods, silently bringing her fingertip up to stop a tear from escaping down her cheek. She sniffs. Smiles.

"Okay," she breathes.

"Okay." Greg turns back in his seat, flipping on his blinker to get back onto the road smoothly.

"You weren't that bad, you know," Rebecca says quietly after a few moments of silence pass.

"I wasn't that good either," Greg counters. "But I'm trying to be."

"I know you are. And it's  _very_  becoming of you."

* * *

_tbc_


End file.
